Son of Psycho
by EGB Fan
Summary: A fourth sequal to Psycho. At the end of Psycho IV, Norman was apprehensive about the baby his wife Connie was carrying. Now Jason Bates is all grown up, and taking care of his father's affairs while Norman languishes in the asylum.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Based on characters created by Robert Bloch and the movies by Universal Studios and MTE.

**Prologue**

FAIRVALE, CALIFORNIA

Fifteen-year-old Jason Bates sauntered through his front door. He was tall and lanky with untidy dark hair, a casual demeanour and something of a nervous look in his big blue eyes. A book bag was slung over his left shoulder, as he had just finished a day at school. He wandered through to the large kitchen at the back of the house and dumped the bag on the island.

"I'm home!" he called, and waited for an answer. He thought the house was unusually quiet, so he went back out into the hallway calling, "Mom? Dad?"

Somebody appeared at the top of the stairwell. Jason looked up, smiling in readiness to greet one or other of his parents. However when he saw the person who was slowly descending the stairs, wearing a long dress and a cheap wig, he stopped dead in his tracks, and the smile froze into a grimace.

"Oh no…" he whispered, watching as the figure walked slowly down the stairs. Then suddenly, shock turned to terror when he saw the kitchen knife clasped in the person's right hand, stained with blood. His eyes wide with alarm, the boy stared at the figure and yelled frantically, "Oh my God – what did you _do_?"

With no thought for his own safety, the boy barged past the large figure and bolted up the stairs. He ran to his parents' room, skidding to a halt in the doorway, and the sight that met his eyes brought the bile rising to his throat. He turned away sharply, pressing his hand to his mouth, his heart hammering as he attempted to come to grips with the situation.

"Jason?" the harsh voice of an elderly woman called sharply.

Jason froze, and his heart skipped a beat. He had never heard that voice before, and hearing it now sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn't think; he only knew that he had to get out of there. Adrenalin coursing through his veins, Jason ran to the bathroom and locked himself in. Tears pricked the backs of his eyes as he launched himself at the basin and was violently sick.

"Jason?"

"STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!" Jason yelled in panic, as the voice became dangerously close. A moment later he heard the squeak of the door handle turning. The door was locked, but he knew that wouldn't keep his pursuer at bay for long.

Jason knew that he had to act fast. He grabbed the nearest towel, wrapped it around his left hand and drove his fist at the window. He broke it on his third attempt, the shards of glass falling to the street outside with a resounding crash.

"JASON! What are you doing in there, boy?"

But Jason was already on the ground outside. It was quite a long drop, and he sustained an injury to his left ankle, but this didn't stop him from running faster than he ever had in his life. He charged into the nearest phone box, careful to keep the door open in case he needed to make a quick escape. He could still see his parents' house, which he kept a close eye on as he dialled.

"Hello – police!" Jason said urgently, when someone finally responded to his call. "This is Jason Bates. My father's gone completely off his rocker. Again. He…" Jason blinked back tears, and tried to steady his voice as he delivered the grim news: "He's killed my mother."

**Six years later**

"I've just seen it in the paper," Sarah Bentley, a young woman with a colourful and imaginative hairstyle, chattered into her cell phone. She was standing outside a dilapidated house wearing jeans, a chequered shirt and a hard hat, various building work going on noisily around her. "But I understand it's been on the market for twenty-two years. I mean, no wonder it's going so cheap. Why do you suppose nobody wants to buy it? Can't you get planning permission or something?"

Sarah waited for a reply.

"Oh, well, that's weird… Sure, call the vendor now. I definitely want to get a look at this place… 'Kay, thanks Phil. Bye."

She hung up and then, slipping the cell phone into her pocket, Sarah clambered over the planks of wood blocking the front door and went into the house. She went through to the back of the building, where two young men in hard hats were knocking down a wall that divided a fair-sized dining room and a small kitchen.

"Need any help?" asked Sarah.

"If you want to," one of the builders replied amiably, handing her a powerful looking hammer. "Still no sign of those plasterers?"

"No," replied Sarah, beginning to take her frustrations caused by the plasterers out on the dividing wall. "They were supposed to come yesterday! Still." She stepped back to survey the work in progress, which seemed to cheer her up. "The kitchen/breakfast room is looking good, isn't it? Once we've got some units in here and some French doors out onto the patio it'll be… oh, hold on," as her cell phone started to ring. She whipped it out of her pocket, glanced at the caller ID and answered it: "Hi, Phil."

"I just called my client," Phil's voice buzzed down the line. "He's said he'll let you view the pwoperty in about an hour."

"An hour?" echoed Sarah, surprised. "Boy, this guy doesn't beat about the bush, does he? He must be pretty desperate to get rid of it."

Phil didn't respond to this remark. Instead he asked, "Can I call the vendor and tell him you'll be wound to view the pwoperty this afternoon?"

"Um…" Sarah glanced at her watch. "Yeah, sure. I mean, I'm waiting for some plasterers, but they should be here in less than an hour. Tell the guy I'll be there."

After Sarah had hung up, she continued her work on the wall. She was later summoned to the roof in order to examine an unforeseen leakage problem, and by the time that was dealt with fifty minutes had passed and there was still no sign of the plasterers.

"Bill," said Sarah, addressing the man who was fixing the gutters. "I have to get to an appointment. If those plasterers show up, can you deal with them for me?"

"Sure thing," said Bill. "But they're not coming, Miss. I'd try to find someone else to do it if I were you."

Sighing with exasperation, Sarah pulled off her hard hat and made for her car.

When Sarah pulled up outside the small motel, Jason Bates was already sitting on the terrace, waiting for her. He rose to his feet as she climbed out of the car, and they greeted each other with a handshake and a pleasant smile.

"Miss Bentley?" Jason asked nervously. "Jason Bates."

"It's nice to meet you," said Sarah, smiling. "And call me Sarah, please. Wow." Turning slightly, she looked up at the tall, dark house that loomed in ruins above them. "I'd sure have my work cut out for me, wouldn't I?"

"Well, it s-suffered a pretty nasty fire some years ago," Jason gabbled. "You'd practically have to rebuild the whole thing. There's nothing wrong with the motel, though. I think, considering it comes with the house, you'd be getting it very cheap."

"I quite agree," said Sarah. "Still, the motel can't do much business, away from the main highway like this…"

"Well," shrugged Jason, "it did ok, but my f-father hasn't run it for about twenty-five years. You should be fine, though, if you run the place right."

"Oh, I don't want to run the place," said Sarah. "I'm a property developer. I want to fix up the house over there, and then sell it on at a profit."

"Fix up the house." Jason smiled slightly, beginning to lose some of his nervousness as they talked. "That'll be interesting to see. My father talked about it a lot… still does, in a way… but it burned down before I was even born. Would you like to go up and look at it?"

"Sure."

Jason led Sarah up several fairly steep stone steps to a charred front door. This swung open at the lightest touch, and they stepped inside. Sarah ran her eye appraisingly over the long corridor, the tall staircase to her right and the door at the back of the hallway.

"This was the living room," Jason told her, gesturing to a door on their left. "And there's a nice big kitchen at the back. I can't take you upstairs, I'm afraid. It's not safe."

"That's all right," said Sarah. "The first thing I'll do is replace those stairs. How many bedrooms did it have?"

"Two. My father's room was a good size, and my grandmother's room was a huge en-suite. You could probably turn it into two rooms. Isn't that the kind of thing you property developers do?"

"Yes, that's the kind of thing," said Sarah, still smiling, finding that she liked this young man. "May I see the kitchen?"

The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was burnt to a cinder, but Sarah could easily imagine it restored to its former glory, and even better.

"This could be a nice place," she remarked. "I mean, I know it needs a lot of work, but… I'm sorry." She smiled apologetically at Jason. "I have to ask…"

"Why has it been on the market so long? Well." He seemed to consider. "It probably didn't help, all the complications we had. My father was trying to sell it for years, but then he started suffering from – er – a little senile dementia. I was only fifteen at the time, so I couldn't sell the place myself for quite a while. And my father, during that time… he was… h-h-he refused… it was just that little part of him that could never quite let the place g-g-go. Well… not so little, really. He'll be mad when he finds out I've been showing a prospective b-b-buyer around."

"But that's not all," pressed Sarah. "Why would no one buy it from your father?"

"Do you know who my father is?" Jason asked carefully.

Sarah shook her head.

"The name Bates, or the Bates Motel, doesn't ring any bells?"

She shook her head again.

"Well," Jason went on hesitantly. "There's a lot of history in this place, from when my father used to live here. Bad things happened. I think… I think if you really want to buy this place, you'd be happier not knowing."

"It's ok," said Sarah. "You don't have to tell me if it's difficult. But I want you to know that I'm not afraid of ghosts."

Jason's mouth twitched nervously; he seemed to be considering telling her more. However he soon changed his mind, saying instead, "There's a cellar. It didn't come out of the fire too badly. I can't take you down the stairs because there aren't any now, but there's a hatch outside if you want to see it."

"I'd love to," said Sarah, so Jason led her back outside and round to the side of the house.

"You really want to buy this place?" asked Jason, as he followed Sarah down into the cellar. "Only, you were talking about new stairs, and…"

"It's a bargain at the asking price," said Sarah. "I'd be crazy not to buy it. I could do a great cellar conversion in here. I'd have to get some heating in, and…" – she stopped, noticing Jason's distant expression. "You don't look all that pleased. Are you afraid of what your father might say?"

"I'm scared to tell him," said Jason. "They're mostly down here, you know… the ghosts. Maybe I _should_ tell you before you find out some other way…"

"It's ok," Sarah insisted. "You won't put me off. I'm not scared of ghosts, remember? Particularly if they're somebody else's."

"They're my father's," said Jason. "He did some terrible things. He went a little crazy… a few times, and he… um… killed some people."

"Oh!" Sarah looked shocked.

"He's safely locked away now," Jason went on hurriedly. "They put him someplace… Almost all of it happened before I was born. He got better, and he married my mother. It was all fine until I was fifteen – he was a really great guy, _and_ a great dad – but then he got confused again. And he did something really terrible."

"Did he kill somebody else?"

Jason looked at the floor. "He broke my heart. I didn't talk to him for so long, but a few months ago he took a turn for the worse. I almost lost him. I see him now as much as possible. He's… what's the expression? He isn't quite himself – and with him being so old and confused he's probably never going to be himself again, but as long as there's still something left I have to… to…"

"You don't need to tell me this," said Sarah, when she saw that tears were coming to his eyes. "I don't care what happened here in the past. Right now, it's just an old house that needs fixing up."

"Oh, yeah, that's the other thing I should probably tell you," Jason said nervously. "It's not _very_ old – early twentieth century or something – but I'm afraid it's grade two listed all the same. Before you do anything, you'll have to talk to the c-c-conservation officer."

"Conservation officer, huh?" Sarah pulled a face. "Man, I hate conservation officers. I mean, the place is ruined anyway. Surely now I can do whatever I want with it."

"Well, they told me that they might want whoever fixes it to rebuild it just like it was. That doesn't put you off, does it?"

Sarah shook her head. "No, it's fine. I'll take it. I'll call the agent and get him to draw up some paperwork, ok?"

"Ok, great," Jason grinned boyishly. "Man, that's a relief."

"I'm glad I could help you," said Sarah.

"I know you'll do a great job. And I know, after you've fixed it up good as new, someone will buy this house and be really happy here."

"No more ghosts, huh?"

"Right. No more ghosts."

x x x

Norman Bates had decided not to return to his motel after he was released from his second spell in the mental institution. Instead he had married his wife Connie, a psychologist who had worked with him, and they had bought a new house in Fairvale together. Jason, having heard the stories about the Bates Motel, didn't want to run the place either. Norman had tried to interest him in some of his own hobbies – piano, which he had learnt in the asylum, and even taxidermy – but in recent months Jason had found that hobbies didn't appeal to him much and he preferred working in the bar close to the apartment he rented with some friends.

Following his mother's murder, Jason had lived with his maternal grandmother, though he'd spent most of the next three years in counselling. He had decided to find somewhere else to live when he finished school, and he thought that he was as over the horrible events of the past as he would ever be. He couldn't bear to go back to his parents' house after what had happened there – especially knowing what had happened to his father when he returned to the scene of his awful past – and fortunately the modern semi-detached had seen a much quicker sale than the motel and the burnt shell of a house.

"Can you cover the rest of my shift?" Jason asked his friend Beth Wells, who was sitting at one of the tables, as he emerged from the gents' holding his cell phone. "I've just had a phone call. My dad wonders why I haven't been to see him today. I ought to go and see him before he does something… before he does something."

"Aww, Ja-son," pouted Beth. She was a barmaid, but this was a Thursday, and she didn't do Thursdays. "It's my night off."

"I'll do Saturday lunchtime for you," said Jason, who was already at the exit. "Thanks, Beth – you're a pal. I'll see you later."

Beth, a short, slim and somewhat vacuous blonde, was one of the people who shared Jason's apartment. She had asked Jason out a couple of times while they were still in school, but he had always refused. He had reasons for wanting to stay single. As it happened he wasn't particularly attracted to Beth, but even if he had been he still would have thought it would be safer for them just to be friends.

He went out to his car, and drove to where his father was kept. Norman lived in a darkened room, and didn't often move from the chair in the corner. He said he liked the darkness. Or rather, his mother said she liked the darkness. Norman had barely resurfaced at all in the six years since Mother returned and her jealousy drove her to kill her daughter-in-law.

"Jason," Mother sighed sadly, as Jason strained his eyes through the darkness to see Norman. "Why haven't you been to see me? You know how lonely your old Grandmother gets."

"Can I talk to Dad?" asked Jason.

"Your father is not here, boy," Mother returned obstinately. "Jason, I wish you could see that what I did to your mother was best for you. You probably would have ended up doing it yourself anyway, if you're anything like your father. The way he killed my sister when she claimed to be his real mother… He should have asked me about it – _I_ would soon have set him straight. Stupid boy."

Jason blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. "I'm not like him… like _you_!" he yelled. "I loved my mother!"

"As Norman loved me."

"No. Not like that. I'm not insane."

"You will be," Mother chuckled softly. "As I was, my sister was, your father was…"

"Dad," said Jason, close to tears. "I know you're in there somewhere. Please talk to me."

"_You _talk to _me_, boy!" snapped Mother. "Why have you not been to see me recently? You seem afraid. Have you got some bad news for your old granny?"

"Good news," Jason said shakily. "I've sold the house, and the motel."

"_What_? To whom, boy?"

"N-no one. Just a woman."

"A woman?" raged Mother. "A filthy _whore_?"

"She's not a whore, Da-… Grandmother," Jason said desperately. "She's a property developer."

"A money-hungry little whore."

"Dad, please," Jason almost sobbed. "It's not her I want to talk to. She's the sickness inside you. She's what k-k-k-k… what killed Mom. Please, Dad…"

"Your father is not here. He hasn't spoken to me in years. And now _you_ want to leave me as well! You'd better come to see me tomorrow, Jason! If you don't, I'll find you myself!"

"Stop! I can't talk to you when you're like this."

"You know your dear old granny loves you, Jason." Her tone suddenly changed, and became dangerously calm. "You wouldn't sell your dear old granny's house, would you?"

"It's just a burned up shell… Grandmother. It's no good to you."

"But it is to this _property developer_?"

"Well… yes."

"Kill her."

"Dad!"

"Then _I'll _kill her for you. Don't lock the door behind you, Jason. I'll show that property developer what happens to whores who try to buy my house…"

"I'm going now, Dad," said Jason. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Jason left, careful to lock the door behind him. He had thought about not telling his father… his grandmother… either of them, about selling the house. But he still loved his father, in some way, and he still hoped to be able to reach him. For sixteen years, Norman Bates had been free of his ghosts after burning them away inside his mother's house. He knew it was a vain hope, but Jason had held onto the idea that perhaps he could reach his father with news that the house would soon be off their hands altogether, and the ghosts with it.

x x x

When Jason was covering Beth's lunchtime shift on Saturday, he had served about a dozen meals and countless drinks when he looked up and saw a familiar face.

"Hi, Mrs. Wells," he greeted Beth's mother, with a nervous smile. "How are you?"

"Just fine, Jason, thank you," replied Judith Wells. "You?"

"Oh, fine. Um, Beth isn't working today, if you came to see - "

"It's all right," Judith interrupted. "Actually I'm meeting her here for lunch. I feel like I never see her anymore these days."

"Well, she's a busy girl," Jason said apologetically. The way his friend's mother was looking at him made him feel somehow responsible for Beth's apparent lack of commitment to her family.

"Is she all right at home?" Judith demanded. "Happy, and everything?"

"She's fine," said Jason. "Look, Mrs. Wells – I know you've been worried about her since your husband, um, d-died, but - "

"Well that's in the past now," Judith cut in. "You would tell me, wouldn't you, if there was something wrong?"

"O-o-of course."

"So. How's your father?"

Jason's polite smile faltered slightly, and his eyes looked suddenly sad. "No better," he said.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, well… Oh, hi!" This as Sarah Bentley came in and walked smilingly over to the bar. "Is everything all right? You haven't changed your mind about the motel, have you?"

"No," said Sarah, sitting down on one of the bar stools. "I'm still very keen on that place. Actually, I was hoping you and I could arrange a meeting with the estate agent – you know, to sit down and sign some paperwork and stuff. Can you do Monday?"

"Monday?" echoed Jason. "Um, s-sure. Monday's fine, as long as it's the morning. I promised my father I'd visit him in the afternoon."

"Oh, your father." Sarah smiled sympathetically. "How is he?"

"No better. No worse either."

"You're buying Norman's motel?" Judith cut in, looking sharply at Sarah.

"Um… yes," Sarah replied cautiously.

"This is Judith Wells – she's the mother of a friend of mine," Jason provided.

"Do you know what happened in that place?" asked Judith.

"Jason's told me everything that happened there," lied Sarah. "I think it's sad when a beautiful old building falls into disrepair because it has some bad memories for someone. I'm really looking forward to fixing it up so someone can move in and make some brand new memories. Happy ones," she added with a smile.

"Well, aren't you just sweet?" Judith said sourly.

"Mom!"

Judith turned, and saw Beth waving her over to a table. She turned back to the bar and said, "I'll have a cheese salad, and Beth will probably have her usual salmon concoction."

"I'll bring them over," said Jason, with an apologetic smile at Sarah.

Judith stalked over the table and sat down opposite her daughter.

"So," Beth began curtly. "How are you?"

"All right," said Judith. "You?"

"I'm fine. Look, Mother, I know you worry about me, but I really am all right. And Jason's fine too."

Judith shook her head despairingly. "I just think it's so dangerous, you and him living under the same roof. We know it runs in his family, and after what happened to your father last year…"

"Look," Beth said sharply. "Dad may have been a little funny in the head, but I'm absolutely fine, and so is Jason. His mother was a psychologist, remember? She always said that if they loved Jason and brought him up right, he'd be fine. And she was right."

"He came home from school and found that his father had killed his mother – in a dress and a wig, I might add!" Judith said in a stage whisper. "Don't you think that might make _anyone_ a little crazy?"

"Mom," Beth said patiently. "If he was going to go crazy, he would have done it by now."

"Maybe you're right," sighed Judith. "Jason's a sweet boy. I just worry about you. I still think you're at risk from your father's illness, and - "

"Mother, please. Dad's fine."

Judith looked up sharply, and stared at her daughter. "_What_?"

Beth stared back. "What did I say?"

"You said, 'Dad's fine'."

"Did I?" Beth looked surprised. "That's not what I meant. I meant to say that I'm nothing like Dad. Oh, Mother – don't look at me like that! I know he's dead, ok? It was just a slip of the tongue. I'm not crazy."

Judith looked down at her hands, just as Jason appeared with their meals.

"Thank you," she mumbled, as Jason dumped the cheese salad in front of her.

"Hi, Jason," Beth smiled winningly up at him. "Who's your friend?"

"What?" queried Jason.

"You've been talking to a girl at the bar."

"Oh. That's Sarah. She's going to buy my father's house, that's all. Enjoy your meals."

Beth watched him go, her eyes narrowing. She saw Jason smiling at Sarah as he went back behind the bar, going to serve two young men who had just walked in.

"What do you think?" she asked her mother. "Is she twinkling at him?"

"_Twinkling_ at him?" echoed Judith. "I don't know, Elizabeth. But so what if she is? I've told you before how dangerous it would be to get involved with - "

"Save it," said Beth. "I've heard it before, and you're wasting your breath. He isn't interested in me anyway."

x x x

It was getting late, and a tired Phil Allsopp was waving his last clients out of the door when his co-worker Kirsty decided it was time for her to go home for the evening.

"Not still here, Kirsty?" he said.

"I was just leaving," replied Kirsty. "Actually, I was going to meet some of the others for a drink. Do you want to come with me?"

"I might join you in a little while," said Phil. "First there's a bit of paperwork I want to finish."

"Oh, Phil – you've worked late for the past three nights!"

"Well, I didn't _want_ to work late again tonight, but this is important. I've finally sold the Bates place!"

"Oh, well done! I guess you want to get the paperwork done before whoever it is changes their mind."

"Wight," smiled Phil. "I'll see you in a little while, Kirsty."

Kirsty left, and Phil retired to his office at the back of the building. He opened a drawer and pulled out the deeds to the Bates property. Reading them through, he smiled with satisfaction; all that was left to do now was wait for Miss Bentley's cheque to clear.

Phil sat back in his chair, relieved to have sold the property at last. It wasn't a great deal of money, he reflected – normally he would expect something more for a fully furnished motel, a house (albeit a dilapidated one) and several acres of land – but he knew that Jason would just be glad to have the place off his hands, and for the small windfall he would shortly be receiving in exchange.

Yawning, Phil got to his feet and lifted the jacket from the back of his chair. Then he paused, listening cautiously, for he could have sworn he heard the front door to the building opening.

"Hello?" he called, assuming that Kirsty must have forgotten something.

No answer.

Shaking his head, Phil decided that he must have imagined it, and started climbing into his jacket. As he slid his arms into the sleeves, the office door creaked slowly open and a large figure appeared in the darkened doorway.

"I'm sowwy, ma'am, the office is closed for today," Phil smiled apologetically. "If you call tomowwow and make an appointment we - "

He broke off suddenly, terrified, as the woman raised a long, sharp knife in her right hand. The blade shone in the glare from the desk lamp as the woman charged towards Phil, brought the knife down to his chest and grinned maniacally as the blood spurted onto her chin. She withdrew the knife, and then slammed it into him again… and again… until he slumped lifeless on the desk. Then she charged out of the room, not even bothering to close the door behind her.

x x x

Once all of the paperwork was signed and the property was practically hers, Sarah arranged a visit to the house with the conservation officer. She had called Jason to let him know she was doing this, and had also asked him to come to the motel at four o'clock, when she thought her appointment would be over.

The conservation officer was a tall, middle-aged man named Douglas Bryant. He was of medium build with a bushy moustache and a surly expression. He frowned up at the towering house, shaking his head sadly over the appalling state of the exterior woodwork.

"There's no saving those boards," Sarah stated the obvious.

"No," Bryant said grudgingly. "You'll have to totally rebuild all of these walls. You'll have to go to a reclamation yard for some original nineteen twenties beams."

"Original nineteen twenties beams," Sarah said flatly.

"Yes. And I want you to maintain the original layout of the house."

"No extra bedrooms?"

"Absolutely not."

"Right," Sarah sighed resignedly. She had heard it all before when working on other listed properties. She had never known a conservation officer to change his or her mind. "What about the cellar? Can I do a conversion?"

"You'd better show me."

"All right. It's this way."

Sarah took Bryant down to the cellar through the hatch, which was directly underneath the window of the master bedroom. The cellar was dark and damp, as cellars tend to be, and Bryant wrinkled his nose when he caught sight of some dry rot on one of the walls.

"I think you'd better do _something_ with this," he remarked dryly. "All right, Miss Bentley… yes. You may have your cellar conversion."

"Thank you, Mr. Bryant," Sarah smiled weakly. "And what about the attic?"

"You haven't been up there, have you?"

"Of course not. But I know there's one there."

"Well…"

"It's practically a room already. Norman Bates and his mother used it for storage. It would just need heating installed, really."

"All right," said Bryant. "But you'll have to keep the window as it is."

"All right, I will."

As they climbed back out into the open air, Sarah caught sight of a figure approaching from the direction of the motel.

"Jason!" she called, waving enthusiastically.

"Is that Bates?" asked Bryant.

"Sure is."

"Well, be careful."

Bryant sidled off towards his car as Jason approached.

"Hi," Jason smiled boyishly at Sarah. "Who was that?"

"The conservation officer." There was a distinct note of distaste in her voice.

"What did he say?"

"Well, he said I can have my cellar conversion."

"Great," Jason smiled weakly. "My dad's gonna hate that."

"So don't tell him."

"Ooh, bad idea. He can always tell when I'm lying, and when I do he gets really upset. It's always best to tell him the truth, even if he's not gonna like it."

"Well, I've got something that might make him feel a little better. Come on."

Sarah started leading the way towards the motel, and Jason followed, curious. He still didn't know why she had called him out.

"So is the deal ok and everything?" he asked, as Sarah unlocked the office and led the way in. Jason had given her the keys even before he had sold the place to her. "I haven't heard from Mr. Allsopp in a couple of days."

"We're just waiting for my cheque to clear, I think," said Sarah. "It should be fine. I haven't heard from him in a while either, though. How weird is that? Well…" – she stepped into the parlour behind the office, and gestured around her. "I assume all of this stuff was your father's. I thought maybe he'd want it back."

Jason gazed at the surrounding room. He had never been in the motel before, and wasn't aware that his father had left any personal possessions behind. The furniture, Norman had decided years before, was to be included in the sale of the property, as he had no need for it. But he had also left behind several framed paintings – most of them depicting birds of various species – as well as a few stuffed owls, crows and woodpeckers.

"There are some other pictures in the cabins," said Sarah, "and some books and things if you want - "

"Keep them," Jason said quickly. "Every good motel has a few books and pictures lying around. And I don't think my dad would want to see too much of his old stuff. It might make him r-r-r-remember."

"Oh." Sarah looked at the floor. "Well, what about those stuffed birds? Not to be rude or anything, but they're kind of…"

"Creepy?" Jason suggested, and he flashed her a crooked smile. "Yeah, I know. He used to have them at home as well. My mom hated it – they really used to freak her out."

There was silence. Sarah noticed Jason's use of the past tense, and assumed that this must mean his mother was dead. He was some years younger than she was, and certainly far too young to have lost his mother.

"I'll take them," said Jason. "And some of these pictures too, if you like."

"Take whatever you want," said Sarah. "It's your family's stuff. I brought some boxes if you need them. Shall I run out to my car and bring a couple over?"

"Thanks," smiled Jason.

As Sarah went outside, Jason wondered how his father would feel about seeing some of his old stuffed birds again. He glanced up, and saw an owl that looked about to swoop down on him, its beak open in a silent screech. Jason's stomach contracted as he pictured his grandmother like that, lifeless and staring while Norman gave her a voice. It had been horrible to witness even without the stuffed body of Norma Bates… or Emma Spool, come to that. Jason shook his head despairingly. If what the doctors said was true, and Norman's condition really was genetic…

"Hey," Sarah said brightly, appearing in the doorway with a cardboard box in each hand. "Want me to help you pack?"

"Thanks," Jason smiled weakly.

"Are you ok?"

"Just thinking."

"About the stuff that happened here?"

"Right on the other side of that wall is Cabin One," Jason told her, as he lifted the swooping owl down from its tall shelf. "My father… well, he sort of k-k-killed someone in there. And that's where my grandmother was when she had her bad turn. And I think Dad said a nun tried to commit suicide in there once."

"Oh."

"Sorry." Jason carried one of the cardboard boxes through to the office. "I think you're right: it might be a good idea to show some of this stuff to my dad. It might help him to remember… um… t-to be more, er, h-h-himself. I think this one was special, from what he told me."

Sarah followed Jason into the office, and saw him taking one of the larger pictures from the wall. Most of the bird portraits were not much bigger than CD jackets, but the painting behind the cash register looked about eighteen inches by twelve. It did not represent any kind of bird, but rather a curious scene that showed a nude woman being molested by two animalistic looking men in front of a tall tree. The woman didn't seem to mind; her expression was positively serene against the lovingly painted rural background.

"Oh," said Jason, when he pulled away the painting to reveal that a huge patch of the plaster behind was missing, and a small hole had been drilled into the wall. "I didn't know about that."

"I'll just have to get it fixed," shrugged Sarah, walking over to the hole and putting her eye to it. "Or stick a picture in front of it like your father did. Man, you can see everything from here. Why would anyone drill a hole in the wall?"

"Maybe he used to watch the guests undressing," muttered Jason.

"I'll fix it," Sarah said brightly, pulling away from the hole to smile at him. "Not a problem. So, have you got everything you need?"

"I think so," said Jason. "Thank you for letting me know about this stuff."

"Well, it's yours," reasoned Sarah, as Jason turned to go. "Hey, wait – where are you going?"

"Home, I guess."

"Well, if you don't have any plans, maybe we could go out for a drink. You know – to celebrate."

"That's it?" Jason asked warily. "Just to celebrate?"

"Sure," Sarah replied slowly. "If that's all you want it to be. I do like you, though. I'd like to see you sometimes."

"See me sometimes?" Jason looked alarmed. "Um, look… I like you too, Miss Bentley."

"Sarah."

"But I… I d-don't d-d-date."

"Why not?"

"It j-j-just… it m-might not be s-s-s-s-…"

Sarah frowned. She had noticed that Jason only stuttered when he seemed to be nervous, and even then it was just slight. But this conversation seemed to be making him very nervous indeed.

"…-s-s-safe."

"Safe?" echoed Sarah, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"I'm sorry," said Jason. "I can't explain. Well, I could, b-b-but - "

"It's ok," Sarah interrupted. "Don't worry about it. But you've got my number, right? If you change your mind?"

"Oh… s-s-s-sure."

"I'll see you around, then."

She left, looking slightly dejected. Jason let out a deep sigh as he watched her go. It wasn't that he didn't want to join her for a drink. He did want to, in fact, very much. But at the back of his mind constantly lurked the fear of the madness in his family. His father had suffered from it, as had Norma Bates and her sister, Emma Spool. There were doctors out there who thought that it was inevitable in Jason. And his family's problems, he knew, had been greatly exacerbated by affairs of the heart. Getting emotionally attached to Sarah Bentley, or to anyone, just wouldn't be wise.

x x x

"Sarah called me out to the motel today, Dad."

"The whore!"

"To give me some of your old stuff. Would you like to see it?"

"Not especially. Your father kept a lot of his junk in that motel. Stuffed birds and filthy pictures, is it?"

"Well, yes, that kind of thing," said Jason.

"I'm not interested," said Mother.

"Dad… might want them."

"Bah. Burn it. It'll do him good to learn the meaning of sacrifice."

"You really are very cruel, aren't you?"

"Just strict, Jason. Now tell your dear old Grandmother what that whore is doing to my house."

Jason sighed deeply. "Must I?"

"Don't you take that tone with me, young man! Now tell me what she's doing, or do I have to beat it out of you?"

"Well, she said… she said she was thinking of doing a…" – he never got away with lying in these situations, so he didn't even try – "a cellar conversion."

"CELLAR CONVERSION?"

"Dad…"

"Grandmother!"

"Grandmother, please!"

"No whore is going to do a cellar conversion on _my house_!"

"Grandmother! How many more times? She is just a property developer!"

" 'Grandmother, she's just a property developer!'" Mother retorted mockingly. "As if men don't desire property developers! As if… oh, I refuse to talk of disgusting things _because they disgust me_!"

Jason sighed again. "Dad, you're obsessed."

"I am not your father!" snapped Mother. "You're as crazy as he is. Go on, walk away," as Jason turned to go. "I know your old Grandmother is too bothersome for you to take time out of your busy schedule."

"You're not my grandmother!" yelled Jason, rounding on her suddenly. "You're my father! Why don't you remember?"

"Stop crying, you pathetic child! So I'm your father, am I? You're madder than he ever was. I shall tell him you said that."

Jason was momentarily stumped. Then, barely audibly, "What?"

"I am going to tell your father what you just said."

"You… you've seen him lately?"

"Certainly I have. I… spilled something. Your father cleaned it up for me."

Jason didn't seem to notice the oily leer in her voice. He edged closer to his father's chair and begged, in unsteady tones, "Can I see him? Dad, please… it's me!"

"How many more times, boy? Your father isn't here! Ooh – I tire of this! If all you can do is stand there weeping, you had better just get out, boy! Do you hear me? Get out!"

Jason didn't argue. He left, clutching desperately to this faint new straw of hope. If he could just catch his father at the right time…

x x x

Beth was slumped on the sofa watching a reality TV show when Jason arrived home. He sat down heavily beside her, asking disinterestedly, "Where is everyone?"

"They've all gone out," replied Beth. "I didn't feel like it. But if my mother calls, tell her I'm not here, ok? She's worried I'm becoming agoraphobic like Dad."

Jason looked at her. "Aren't you?"

"Oh, c'mon – one night I don't go out…"

"I'm sorry."

"Maybe next time you leave me here alone you'd better make sure there aren't any sharp objects lying around," Beth went on heatedly.

"I'm sorry," Jason said again, somewhat irritably. "Can you blame me for worrying sometimes? You're not the only one with a crazy dad, you know."

Beth was silent.

"I just went to see him," Jason went on. "He said… his Mother said that she'd seen Dad recently."

"Oh," Beth reacted in surprise. "Well, that's good news. You think maybe he'll, er… pay _you_ a little visit."

"God, I hope so." Jason exhaled heavily. "I'll tell you something, Beth: he… she… whatever, is so pissed about me selling the house. I didn't want to tell him about the cellar conversion, but he wanted to know what's going on there and you know how I am with lies."

"Your grandmother doesn't sound like a very nice person," remarked Beth.

"She used to kill people," Jason reminded her. "I do appreciate your talking to me about this, Beth. There aren't many people I can tell."

"Don't sweat it."

"Whenever I go to see him, he just keeps going on and _on_ about Sarah."

"The lady who's buying your dad's house?"

Jason nodded. "I've told him I'm not interested, but he always seems to know when I'm lying, even if I manage not to stutter. I don't know what to do about it, Beth. She wants to go out with me, but if I agree…"

"What – you think you'll end up killing her?" Beth asked disdainfully. "That was your excuse for not going out with _me_, remember."

"Oh, Beth – that was years ago."

"So, what – you like this property developer person?"

"Yes," said Jason. "Maybe… maybe I _could_ go out on a date with her, just to see how it goes. Maybe I'm not even going to go crazy. It seems silly not to have a life just in case I go mad."

Beth looked him in the eye and said, "I don't think you'll go mad. You've come through what happened to your parents, and you've even forgiven your dad. Jason… you're the strongest person I know."

x x x

Sarah had her builders start on the exterior of the house as soon as she had her original nineteen twenties beams, and Douglas Bryant was eager to see her progress. He drove down to the Bates Motel early on Friday morning, only to find the place deserted. He tutted disapprovingly, shaking his head. According to Miss Bentley's information, the builders should have arrived to start work an hour ago.

Bryant turned away from the dilapidated house and looked towards the motel. He thought he saw the door to Cabin One swing shut, which struck him as odd. There were no cars around, and the place was a long walk even from the diner, which was the place closest to the motel in which one was likely to find any form of civilisation. Perhaps he had imagined it. Frowning confusedly, Bryant made his way towards the motel building. Sure enough, the door to the first cabin was unlocked.

"Hello?" he called out boldly, pushing the door open a few inches and peering round it. "Miss Bentley, is that you?"

Silence. But then, quite suddenly, a large figure in a long black dress emerged from the bathroom. Bryant gasped as he saw the gleaming knife raised high above the person's head. He backed hurriedly out of the cabin, stumbling when his heels hit the edge of the terrace, and he fell back onto the hard ground below. He cried out as the woman loomed over him, and then fell silent as she plunged the knife deep into his heart.

Mother looked down at her kill, feeling satisfied. But then, quite suddenly, she was Mother no longer. The knife dropped to the ground, and there stood Norman, aghast. In a few moments he undoubtedly would have begun disposing of the body in the usual way, by bundling Bryant into the back of his car and driving it to the swamp. But then the sound of another car engine came into earshot. Left with no choice, the figure stole quickly and quietly into the motel, reaching up to tear the wig from his head.

x x x

"Hello?" Sarah had been about to drive down to the building site, and was just walking through her front door when her cell phone started to ring.

"Um… Miss Bentley?" a male voice asked uncertainly. "This is Bob, the builder."

"Hello, Bob the builder," said Sarah. "Is everything all right?"

"Well, not really," Bob replied. "The police are here. When we arrived to start work a few minutes ago - "

"You were late?"

"Well… maybe a little. But Miss Bentley, I'm calling to tell you that we found a body. A man was murdered down here."

x x x

Jason drove quickly to the house after receiving Sarah's call. He found her sitting on the terrace outside the motel, a Styrofoam cup of coffee held precariously in her shaking hands.

"Sarah!" he exclaimed, running over to sit by her. "What happened?"

"Douglas Bryant – the conservation officer… he was killed, Jason," Sarah replied absently, staring out to the distance. "Stabbed."

"_What_?" exclaimed Jason, horrified. "Here?"

"Right outside Cabin One."

In less than a second, so many thoughts flooded through Jason's mind. _"I haven't heard from Mr. Allsopp in a couple of days,"_ he heard himself saying. And then his so-called Grandmother's chilling voice: _"No whore is going to do a cellar conversion on _my house_! …I spilled something. Your father cleaned it up for me."_

"It's not possible…" murmured Jason.

"I don't understand," said Sarah. "Why would anybody kill him? I mean, he _was_ a conservation officer, but… Why was anybody even hanging around here?"

"You h-h-haven't heard f-f-from Mr. Allsopp recently, h-h-have you?"

"No." Sarah looked at him. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"N-n-no one's seen him, have they?" Jason persisted. "Not for days. Is anyone looking for him?"

"I don't know, Jason. What's the matter with you?"

But Jason wasn't listening. He stood up suddenly and announced, "I have to g-g-go, Sarah. I'm s-s-s-sorry."

"Go?" Sarah stood up and followed him to his car. "Go where?"

He didn't answer. He just apologised again, and then climbed into his car and drove off.

x x x

"How did you get out?"

Mother chuckled softly to herself as Jason charged around the room, eyeing every inch of the wall for a means of escape. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Did you kill Mr. Allsopp too?"

"That estate agent? I might have done. Stop that, Jason. You'll never guess how I escaped."

"That's why Dad came back, isn't it?" demanded Jason. "To cover up what you did! He didn't have time to hide that conservation officer before the builders showed up, but he cleaned up the mess you left after Mr. Allsopp and dumped the body in the swamp!"

Jason hurried over to the window and yanked open the curtains. However he pulled them quickly closed again as Mother yelled, "Stop that! Do you want people to see us? What if somebody guessed what was going on?"

Jason stood with his back to his father for a few moments, trying to catch his breath, for his efforts to discover Norman's means of escape had been frenzied and tiring. Then he turned slowly round, and began pleading with his father once more: "Dad, please. I know you're there – you cleaned up after your mother. Remember?"

"He isn't here, Jason. Why must you hallucinate your father in this room every time you visit? You're the one who should be locked away – not me!"

Scowling, Jason grew angry once again. "You did it for nothing!" he yelled. "Sarah already owns the house!"

"Then I'll kill her too! Where's my knife?"

"The police have it. You left it behind. And killing Sarah won't do any good. If she dies, the house goes to her next of kin. You can't kill everyone in the world until the stupid house passes back to you!"

"Can't I, boy?"

"Of course you can't! And I'm never coming to see you again, Dad – you understand? Not unless someone calls and tells me you're yourself again!"

"I don't think that will happen, Jason."

"Goodbye, Grandmother."

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

Jason didn't go to see his father again for over a week. He tried not to think about him, which was difficult; Norman was practically alone in that place. However, Jason tried to get on with his life. He decided to call Sarah and make a date with her, and he was getting ready to see her on Friday night when he received a visitor.

Beth still wasn't going out much, so she answered the door, as Jason was in the shower. She expected to find Sarah on the threshold (though she would have been very early), and was therefore surprised when she opened the door to Doctor Leo Richmond. He was an elderly man, perhaps in his eighties, but he was still fairly mobile. The skin on his face creased as he smiled at Beth, and said pleasantly, "Good evening, Elizabeth."

"Did my mother send you?" Beth asked sharply.

"No," said Richmond. "Actually I came to see Jason."

Jason hadn't seen Dr. Richmond since his father's incarceration, following the murder of Connie Bates about six years earlier, and was surprised to see him now. His hair was still wet from the shower when he emerged from the bathroom to find the psychiatrist sipping coffee at the kitchen table.

"H-hello, Doctor," Jason greeted his guest politely, sitting down beside him. "What can I do for you?"

"Well," Richmond smiled disarmingly, "I was just wondering how you were, Jason. I heard about the murder at the motel."

"Oh."

"The police think that was your father's original knife the murderer used, apparently. I wondered what had happened to it."

"I asked D-Dad once what happened to that knife, after he t-told me what he d-did. He s-s-said he thought he left in the cellar after he b-b-burnt down his m-mother's house."

"I see."

"Anyone c-could have gone down there and f-f-f-found it. B-before that," Jason went on, "he had it stashed in a s-secret c-compartment underneath his m-m-mother's wardrobe. I guess he must have l-left it there after he attacked M-Mrs. Spool's c-c-corpse with it, r-right before he got p-put away again. He remembered it was th-th-there, and b-before I was born he tried to kill M-Mom… and m-m-me, I g-guess. You didn't know that, d-d-did you, D-D-D-Doctor?"

"I knew he planned to kill her, partly because she tricked him into making her pregnant, and partly because he was afraid of what you would become if he let the pregnancy go ahead. But when no murder occurred I assumed he changed his mind." Dr. Richmond's eyes narrowed on Jason's face. "You seem nervous."

"You m-mean my, my s-s-s-stutter?" asked Jason, trying desperately to disguise the nervousness he was feeling. If Dr. Richmond guessed that Norman had somehow escaped… "Oh, w-well, I guess it's because I'm w-waiting for a d-d-date."

"That's good," Richmond approved. "I think it might have helped your father, if he'd gone out more. I'm glad that you don't seem to be going down the same road as he did, Jason. I was very concerned about what might happen to you, after you found…"

"I try not to think about that."

"Well… perhaps your father should have stayed locked away for good. When he got old, he was bound to - "

"Dr. Richmond, p-please," Jason interrupted. "I d-don't want to talk about my p-p-parents."

"I think you _should_ talk about them."

"Well, I d-d-d-disagree." Another knock came at the door. "And now I think you should l-l-leave, b-because that'll be my d-d-d-d-…

"Your date?"

"Um… y-yes."

When Jason went to the small entrance hall, he found that Beth had already answered the door to Sarah. On calling to arrange a date, Jason had warned Sarah not to dress up, but she had clearly made some effort as her usual tomboyish jeans and shirt had given way to a fayed denim skirt and a smart leather jacket.

"W-w-wow," stammered Jason. "You look g-g-great."

"Thanks," beamed Sarah. Then, as Dr. Richmond appeared, "Oh, hi."

"I was just leaving," the doctor smiled politely. "Goodbye, Jason. You'll let me know if you have any problems, won't you?"

"Yes," muttered Jason, frowning angrily at Richmond's retreating form. The last thing he wanted right now was for Sarah to think that he had problems.

"Nice getup," Beth remarked dryly, with a false smile.

Sarah missed the sarcasm in her voice. "Thanks," she said. "So, Jason – where do you wanna go?"

Beth practically shoved Jason out into the hallway, and then kicked the door firmly shut behind him with a loud bang.

"Is she all right?" asked Sarah, quietly thinking that Beth hadn't looked at all well.

"I don't know," said Jason. "She's been acting weird all day, but it's probably nothing to worry about. C'mon – I know a great c-club a couple of b-b-blocks away."

Sarah felt a little out of place in the small yet noisy and crowded nightclub to which Jason had brought her. Though she was out with a twenty-one year old, she considered herself a little too old for nightclubs, and it was a few years since she had been in one. Not for some time had she had to shout _quite_ so loud to make herself heard.

"SO!" she yelled in Jason's ear, over the heavy sound of the music, as they sipped cocktails at one of the space age silver round tables. "ARE _YOU_ OK?"

"SHOULDN'T I BE?" Jason shouted back.

"SURE, ONLY – THAT MAN…" – but she caught the look that passed over his features, and finished weakly, "SORRY – IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS."

Jason looked thoughtful, shaking his head, as though battling with some decision. But the music was distracting him. He leaned closer to Sarah and asked, "CAN WE GET OUTTA HERE?"

Sarah nodded, only too happy to go. Admittedly she'd had fun there, but it was impossible to talk. She suggested that they go to the former Bates Motel and take a little walk through the land surrounding the house. It was the quietest place she could think of that was close by. Jason looked surprised, but agreed quite readily.

They took a cab. Throughout the journey, Jason was aware of the uneasy feeling of being followed. While Sarah chattily recounted some tale of shoddy building work on one of her previous developments, he glanced out of the back window. There were quite a few cars behind them – they were still on the main highway. When the cab turned in to the smaller road that led to the motel, Jason couldn't help worrying slightly when another car followed. He thought it looked familiar, but it was dark, and frankly it could have been any old car. He breathed out, finally able to relax, when they lost it not far from the motel.

"Will you wait for us?" Sarah asked the cabbie, before climbing out of the taxi after Jason.

The driver shrugged. "Meter's running," he warned.

"I know," said Sarah. "We won't be long."

"Wow." Jason felt Sarah's hand slip into his as they wandered up the steps to the house. "This place is looking so much better."

"Even in the dark?"

"It has almost all of its walls."

"Yeah – that _is _an improvement. It's a great house. I'm enjoying this project a lot. The cellar conversion is going to be great. I just need my architect to finish drawing up the plans, and then we can get started."

Jason winced at the mention of the cellar conversion. His father – his grandmother, rather – would hate it. He knew that cellar held a lot of bad memories for Norman. Jason also knew that Mother would hate him being out with Sarah. He had no idea whether the Mother half of Norman's mind would object to him going out on a date, as it had whenever Norman himself felt attracted to a woman. However he knew that she would be furious if she found out he was on a date with the woman who had bought her house, and was changing it so drastically.

Jason still felt uneasy about that feeling he'd had of being followed. In the nightclub too, he had occasionally been gripped with the feeling of being watched. He couldn't help wondering: just how _had_ Norman escaped to commit those two murders?

No, surely not. Surely he was just being paranoid.

"You were asking about that man," he said, as he and Sarah walked slowly to the back of the house. "It was Dr. Richmond – a psychiatrist who worked with my father years ago. He was wrong about me having problems. I don't. Well… not yet, anyway."

"You're as sane as I am," Sarah said bracingly. "I'm sorry about what happened with your father, Jason."

"You don't know the half of it."

"How is he?"

"Bad."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't think Richmond helped him very much," Jason went on. "I never really liked the guy. Richmond, I mean – not my dad. He came to see me straight away when he heard what… when he found out I was having counselling. He didn't have any idea what he was talking about – he sure as hell didn't help _me_. My dad's problems… they were all to do with his mother. I'm sure Richmond thinks they used to have sex."

"What – your dad and his mother?" asked Sarah.

"Yeah. They didn't, though. I'm sure of that. Richmond says my father always denied it, and I don't think he'd lie."

It came as a relief to Jason when he realised that he hadn't stuttered once since leaving the cab. He was really learning to relax around Sarah. He was telling her things that he had only ever confided to Beth, as his closest friend and someone with similar problems to his. He wondered how soon he would feel ready to tell Sarah everything.

Sarah thought it was a beautiful night, particularly where they were, out of the city. She would have liked it to continue, but she was mindful of the waiting cab. She squeezed Jason's hand and said gently, "Meter's running, remember. We should go."

"Right," said Jason, who was only too glad to leave, for once again he had that strange, unnerving feeling that they were being watched.

x x x

"So." Jason gazed up at the impressive two-storey house. "This is how property developers live."

Sarah smiled. "Only the really successful ones."

"Is it just you here?"

"Yeah. Just me. It, um… it can get pretty lonely sometimes."

Jason saw that she was gazing longingly at him from under her eyelashes. He felt his heart rate accelerate and his cheeks colour. He caught his breath sharply as Sarah leaned in and kissed him. It was incredibly nerve-racking. He had never been kissed before, nor initiated a kiss, he had been so afraid of what might happen.

"I'm s-s-sorry," he stuttered, when Sarah pulled away. "I've n-n-never…"

"It's all right, Jason."

He didn't know what to say.

"Would you like me to come in?"

"D-do you w-w-w-w-want me t-t-t-t-to?"

"Yeah," Sarah smiled suggestively. "I do."

Jason, his heart pounding, followed her into the house. He was relieved when she seemed to want to take things slowly. She offered him a seat on the sofa and a cup of coffee, both of which he accepted. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned minutes later with two coffees, one of which she handed to Jason. She then sat down and cuddled up next to him.

"I had a really good time tonight," she murmured.

"M-m-me too," said Jason, wishing he could feel as relaxed as she sounded.

"I'm really enjoying working on your house. Well, _my _house. It must have been a really lovely place once."

"It p-p-p-p-probably was f-f-for a while."

"The motel is newer than the house, isn't it? When was the motel built?"

"I d-don't know." Jason wrinkled his nose. "I'm a bit conf-f-fused about that, to be honest with you. Mom always said that Dad told her he and his mother struggled to run the motel after his father died. And you remember that hole in the w-wall? Now that I think about it, Dr. Richmond once said something about his father – Dad's father, not Dr. Richmond's father – making holes in the walls."

"It can't have been that much newer, then," said Sarah.

"But," Jason went on, "Dad always told _me_ that his mother's boyfriend persuaded her to build the motel after her husband died. If you follow."

"Oh."

"Well, my father is very confused. He can't even remember whether stuff happened when he was twelve or sixteen. You make a mean cup of coffee, by the way."

"Thanks." There was a short pause. "Would you, um…?"

"Would I what?"

"Would you like to see the en-suite wet room I had installed in my bedroom?"

"Wet room?" Jason pulled a face. "What's a wet room?"

A wet room, Jason soon discovered, was basically a giant shower unit contained within one fairly sizeable room. There was no toilet; Jason supposed that one just did one's business while the shower was running and let it drain away with the water, but he didn't like to ask.

"Would you like to, um…?" Sarah began nervously. "Would you like to take a shower, Jason?"

Jason looked blank.

"With me."

"Oh!" His eyes widened. "W-w-w-w-well, I, I…"

"It's ok," Sarah said hastily. "I'm not going to ask you to do anything you don't want to. Maybe I'm being a bit forward but I… I just really want to."

"I d-d-do t-t-t-t-t-t-too," Jason confessed. "I'm s-s-s-s-s-sorry, I'm j-just really n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n…" – he took a deep breath, and started again: "I'm really nervous."

"It's ok," Sarah said soothingly. "We'll just… take it slow."

She started to kiss him seductively, and Jason began to feel more nervous than he had ever thought possible. In spite of her promise to take it slowly, she very quickly had him stripped to the waist, and was making a pretty fast job of getting out of her own clothes. Jason was so nervous he couldn't speak, even though he rather needed to. He pulled his head away and took a deep breath, knowing that he was almost certainly about to stutter more severely than he ever had in his life.

"What's wrong?" Sarah asked anxiously.

"I n-n-need to use the t-t-t-toilet. You d-do have one…?"

Sarah laughed. "Of course I have one. If you go out of the bedroom, there's a family bathroom just on the right."

Jason cocked an eyebrow. "A f-family bathroom, huh?"

"It's a property developer expression."

Jason found the bathroom easily enough, and did what he had to do. He thought he heard movement outside, but quickly dismissed the notion, putting it down to nerves. Who would be wandering around Sarah's house at this time of night? As he flushed the toilet he heard the sound of the shower running in the wet room, and assumed that Sarah must have slipped out of the dregs of her clothes.

Taking a deep breath, he wandered over to the mirror at the basin and looked at himself, and found himself wondering why she wanted him quite so badly. He didn't consider himself handsome. He had boyish features framed by a mop of untidy, equally boyish dark hair, much like his father had in his youth, according to his police profile pictures (living like a hermit with his mother's corpse in his twenties, there hadn't been much opportunity for any other kind of photographs to be taken). Perhaps Sarah thought he was cute. Perhaps he appealed to her maternal instincts. She was significantly older than he was, after all.

The train of thought was cut short when he heard a shrill scream coming from the wet room. All sorts of terrible thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant: they really _had_ been followed; Norman had escaped, and Mother had been watching them the whole time; she had followed them to Sarah's house and was now parodying the murder of Marion Crane in nineteen sixty…

Jason shot from the room and flung open the door to the wet room. His guess was close, but not quite correct; it was not Norman in a dress that Sarah was currently trying to hold at bay underneath the running water. Rather it appeared to be a slight woman with a nasty looking meat cleaver in her hand.

Jason leapt forward and grabbed the smaller woman's wrists. It was fairly easy to overpower her, but he was forced to retreat when she started trying to hack his fingers off with her meat cleaver. Sarah, however, had already made her escape, and quickly returned with a fairly small sledgehammer. As the attacker turned to make another attempt, Sarah swung the handle of the hammer onto the side of her head. She knew that using the head would certainly be more effective, but more than likely a little _too_ effective. However a hard blow with the handle was evidently enough to knock this woman out.

"Oh m-m-my G-G-God!" exclaimed Jason. "S-S-Sarah! Why do you have a s-sledgehammer in your b-b-b-bedroom?"

Sarah had dropped her weapon and was now hastily wrapping a towel around herself. "It's for knocking down walls," she said defensively.

Jason shook his head incredulously. "What the…?"

"Jason!" said Sarah, seeing clearly her attacker's face for the first time as she lay on the floor of the wet room, the water still running. "Isn't that…?"

Jason nodded grimly. "Beth."

x x x

Judith Wells ran into the police station in the middle of the night exclaiming, "Where's my daughter? I want to see my daughter!"

Fortunately Jason was waiting near the front desk. He approached Judith and said soothingly, "Calm down. She's in a cell right now."

"A _cell_?" shrieked Judith.

"She was a little crazy, Judith. She tried to kill Sarah in the shower."

"No! She wouldn't!"

"Judith," said Jason. "She had a meat cleaver."

"Oh God," said Judith.

"Perhaps you'd better sit down."

"No, no, I'm fine. Oh God. I never thought she'd do anything like this, Jason. I was worried about her state of mind, but not even her father was ever _that_ sick!"

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Jason said weakly. "She just went a little mad. We all go a little mad sometimes."

"Ha! Not _that _mad."

"Well. Some people do."

"I know, I know." Judith shook her head despairingly. "It's terrible, Jason. Just terrible. I should never have married him. At least I never should have had a child with him."

"Oh, look, you weren't to know…"

"Well. He told me before I married him that he had a history of mental illness. Of course, it wasn't until after he died that his parents told me… I couldn't know this would happen to Beth, though. It wasn't until she was a teenager that I knew just how bad it was for Andrew. You should have seen him at the end, Jason. He was a gibbering maniac." Judith sniffed, blinking back tears. "Why did she try to kill your girlfriend anyway?"

At that moment, a door flew open and Ralph West, the local sheriff, emerged with Sarah, who had just given her statement.

"Sarah, hi, are you all right?" asked Jason, going over and embracing her.

"I'm fine," said Sarah. "Absolutely fine. Don't worry about me."

"Sheriff," said Jason, keeping one arm around Sarah's shoulders. "This is Judith Wells, Beth's mother."

"Oh, you're here already," West said in surprise. "Well, we're going to start questioning your daughter in the morning. Mr. Bates and Miss Bentley have told us their side of the story already, and I gotta admit it doesn't look good for Beth. We'll also be questioning her in connection with the disappearance of Philip Allsopp and the murder of Douglas Bryant."

Jason caught his breath sharply just as Judith said, "Who?"

"The estate agent and the conservation officer," offered Sarah.

"Funny thing," said the sheriff, stifling a chuckle. "Some of the builders we talked to said they thought _you_ looked like you wanted to kill the conservation officer, Miss Bentley. You don't like conservation officers very much, do you? I think they were joking, though. But Jason, there were some people really _did _think that you might have… well, you know…"

"_Me_?" Jason frowned. "Why the hell would I kill an estate agent and a conservation officer? I was desperate to get that house of my hands."

"Well, yes," West said smilingly. "But with what's happened in your family, there always have been folks who thought maybe you'd… Well, the last sheriff liked your father, Jason, and he felt terrible when he had to arrest him for all those murders in 'eighty-two. And he said to me: 'One day I'll be hauling in that boy of his too – just you wait.'"

Jason's frown deepened. "I didn't kill anyone."

"No, no, of course you didn't. I mean, if we had any actual evidence you'd have been brought in for questioning a long time ago."

"Excuse me, Sheriff," Judith cut in. "Are you suggesting that my daughter killed those men?"

"It's possible, ma'am."

"Why? What on earth would she have against an estate agent and a conservation officer? What _is_ a conservation officer anyway?"

"Excuse me," Jason said timidly. "May we go now?"

"Of course you can," said the sheriff. "We may be in touch if we need anything else, and we'll let you know what's happening."

Sarah and Jason walked out of the police station and into the night, still holding onto each other.

"You're shaking," remarked Sarah, once they were outside. "Are you still feeling freaked out?"

Jason shrugged. "Not inordinately. What about you? Will you be ok?"

"I told you, I'm fine. I don't really feel like going home, though."

"You can stay at my place. Well, there isn't a lot of room… but I guess Beth's room is free tonight…"

"It's ok," said Sarah. "I thought I'd just stay at the motel."

"The motel?" echoed Jason, his voice rising in alarm. "Are you sure?"

"Why not?"

"W-well, I…" – he didn't really want to tell her that he was afraid of the possibility of his father finding her there. He knew Beth hadn't committed the previous two murders, and he knew that Mother hated Sarah more than any estate agent or conservation officer. "People have died spending the night there, you know."

"Not recently they haven't. There's no danger there now – don't be such a panic merchant."

"Well, yes, you're r-right, but… well, it's sort of cold and creepy alone at night, especially with that half-finished house looking down on you. I'd imagine."

"Are you offering to spend the night with me?" asked Sarah.

"I think… perhaps… I'd better," Jason said slowly.

"Great." Sarah squeezed his waist. "We can pick up where we left off."

"You s-s-still w-w-want to?"

"Don't you?"

"I'm not s-s-s-sure."

"Well. Let's just see how you feel when we get there."

x x x

Jason filled the sink and splashed the water over his face a few times, hoping it would encourage him to wake up. He and Sarah had spent the night in Cabin Ten. Sarah had said she was happy to sleep in separate rooms if he'd rather, but – besides there being no other source of heating except each other's bodies – he had wanted to keep an eye on her. In fact, he had hardly slept all night. His father had as much as admitted to killing Allsopp and Bryant, and if Mother should happen to find Jason in _her_ motel with the very woman who was bastardising her house…

He surveyed himself in the mirror above the basin, looking into his own boyish big blue eyes in utter disbelief. Last month, last week, even yesterday, he wouldn't have believed that he'd ever have the courage to spend the night there.

The door to the bathroom clicked open and Jason jumped a foot in the air, terrified it might be his father. He relaxed, however, when he saw Sarah in the mirror. She caught his eye and smiled, and then walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"See?" she said, nuzzling his shoulder. "Nothing bad happened."

"No."

"Are you ok?"

"I just can't believe I spent the night here."

"I think you're a lot braver than you realise."

"Yeah, well." Jason turned round and put his arms around her. "We should have brought toothbrushes and a razor and stuff, shouldn't we? And food. I'm starving."

"Me too. Isn't there a diner or something not far from here?"

Jason winced visibly.

"Don't tell me stuff happened at the diner too."

"_Some_ stuff happened at the diner. My father worked there for a while after he was released from the institution, and he was driven mad again by a couple of people. Three, actually. One of them was his aunt. She'd come straight from the asylum too. They must have some sort of care in the community scheme or something going on."

"You mean we'd be served by a load of mad people?"

"Possibly. I've never been there before. My dad used to avoid it because everybody knew his history, but I guess there's no reason I shouldn't go there. No one would even know me."

"Ok then," Sarah smiled encouragingly. "Let's go."

Sarah drove them to the diner, and it transpired that Jason was quite wrong about not being recognised. A couple of people he knew from Fairvale were in there for some reason, sitting at the counter with a curly-haired woman who looked to be in her fifties. They waved, and one of them called out, "Hi, Jason!"

"Hi," Jason responded weakly, slipping into a seat behind one of the tables.

"Are you ok?" asked Sarah, sitting down opposite him.

"Everyone's looking at me."

Sarah glanced over her shoulder. He was right. Everyone _was_ looking at him.

"Those guys must have told them who I am."

"Look, don't worry about them. I'll go order. What would you like to eat?"

"Oh… I don't know."

"I'll get you a sandwich or something."

"Thank you, Sarah."

Almost as soon as Sarah had left the table, the curly-haired woman from the counter was in her seat.

"Jason Bates?" she said. "I'm Tracy Venable."

"Um, hi," Jason said awkwardly.

"I knew your father."

"Yes, your name _does _sound familiar."

"I'm an investigative reporter."

"Oh yes, that's right," said Jason. "You wrote an unkind article about him at one point, didn't you?"

"A lot of journalists did that, Mr. Bates," Tracy smiled disarmingly.

"Jason."

"Mine was in nineteen eighty-two. You know – after he murdered Emma Spool, stuffed her corpse and pretended it was his mother?"

"Not to be rude or anything, Ms. Venable, but what do you want?"

"I want to talk to you about the recent murders in Fairvale."

Jason scowled. "You think _I_ did it, don't you?"

"No, no, not at all," Tracy said hastily. Then, "Well, I admit it _did_ cross my mind when I learned that Norman had a son. But equally – or more likely, even – it could have been a copycat killer. People are fascinated by the story of Norman Bates, you know, and those two murders were just like most of his."

"What could I possibly tell you?" Jason asked warily.

"Well," said Tracy, "I don't expect you to know anything about these latest murders. Well, not necessarily. But perhaps you could give me some background about your father. I never had any dealings with him after he was put away for the second time. We were told he'd never be let out, but… well, he killed your mother, didn't he? I read that he became his mother again and killed his wife. That must have been very difficult for you."

At that moment Sarah returned, and Jason slid over on his seat to make room for her. She looked at Tracy, expecting an introduction; however Tracy ignored her and ploughed on: "What about you? How did your father treat you? Was he ever abusive? Did he ever dress up when you were around?"

"Excuse me," Sarah jumped in. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but Jason and I are trying to have a nice quiet breakfast together, so do you think you could piss off please?"

"Is this your lady friend?" asked Tracy, undeterred. "Were you at all apprehensive about getting involved with Norman Bates' son, Miss? I mean, when you consider his family history…"

"Piss off," Sarah said again.

Tracy Venable didn't look like she had any intention of going anywhere. She didn't turn round when the door to the diner swung open, but looked up with mild interest when the sheriff approached the table and said bracingly, "Good morning, Miss Bentley. How are you feeling?"

"All right," said Sarah.

"Are you sure?" pressed the sheriff. "Because we can organise for you to see a victim support counsellor."

"I'm fine," Sarah said irritably.

"What's this about?" asked Tracy.

"Nothing," said Sarah.

"Miss Bentley was attacked last night by a young woman with a meat cleaver," said the sheriff.

Tracy raised her eyebrows. "Really? A meat cleaver? It probably wasn't the same murderer as those property people, then…"

"Well, it might be," the sheriff replied chattily. "After the second murder the weapon was found by police, so the killer would have to use a different one."

"Indeed," said Tracy. She looked significantly at Jason. "The previous victims both had something to do with the Bates place, didn't they?"

"That's right," said the sheriff. "And Miss Bentley here owns the place now, which is why we think there's a connection."

Tracy smiled enigmatically at Sarah. "Really?" she said airily.

"Sheriff!" exclaimed Sarah. "You can't just _tell_ people this kind of stuff!"

"And who's the suspect?" asked Tracy.

"Well," the sheriff began, "she - "

"Sheriff!" Sarah said again. "You're being very unprofessional here, you know. I'm almost tempted to make a complaint and have you suspended from duty."

"Um, well," the sheriff back-pedalled hastily. "I am not at liberty to divulge that information, Mrs. um…"

"Miss. Venable. Well then." She flashed Jason and Sarah a synthetic smile. "I'll be off, then. Thank you for your help."

"Well done," Sarah said sarcastically to the sheriff, once Tracy had shot out of the diner like lightning. "She's a journalist. She's going to go straight to the police station and get someone else to tell her who the suspect is. And then she'll find out she's a friend of Jason's, and… God, you are such an idiot!"

"Sarah." Jason put a calming hand on her arm. "It's ok."

"It is _not_ ok, Jason!" Sarah turned to face him, and the sheriff took the opportunity to slope away. "You don't want that kind of libel all over the papers!"

"I'm used to my family being in the papers. It'll be in the papers whether she writes it or not. And we can't stop her from finding out anything – she might as well hear it from the sheriff as anyone else."

"Well I still say he's being unprofessional. He's breaking confidentiality. It's a breach of human rights. He and all the other police should figure out exactly what they can and can't say, and then they should wait for the press conference."

"Sarah," Jason said soothingly. "I don't mind. If _I_ don't mind, _you_ don't need to get worked up about it."

Sarah sighed deeply. "But you _do_ mind. I saw the way you looked when she was asking you about your father."

"Yeah, well," said Jason. "I didn't tell her anything. She can't put very much about _him_ in the papers."

x x x

Judith Wells, after a long night of hanging around the police station, was finally allowed to see her daughter. Hunched in the corner of her cell, Beth looked small and vulnerable to her mother.

"What ever were you thinking, Beth?" Judith asked despairingly.

Beth sniffed. "I don't know."

"Why did you do it?"

"I didn't mean to, Mom! Only Jason seemed so keen on her, and… and he always said he wouldn't be my boyfriend because he was afraid of the illness but then she, she… It must just have been an excuse! He just isn't interested!"

Judith raised her eyebrows. "You were jealous."

"Well, that's one way of putting it."

"Beth, for pity's sake…"

"But I love him, Mother!" wailed Beth. "It isn't fair! He let me think there might be a chance for us, but he was lying to me all along!"

"Well that's hardly the girl's fault," Judith pointed out.

Beth hung her head. "I know."

"Now then Beth, I've been told that they're going to get a psychiatrist to talk to you. They seem to think you're mad."

Beth sighed. "I _am_ mad, Mother. I wouldn't have done it if I wasn't mad."

"Well, at least you didn't dress up as your father before you did it or anything like that."

"What's going to happen to me, Mom?"

"You'll probably be institutionalised, dear."

Beth scowled. "Great."

"Well, I told you to go to a doctor when you had the chance, didn't I! I said you weren't right in the head!"

"All right, all right, there's no need to rub it in!"

Judith took a deep breath, and then said calmly, "The sheriff has said I can go and get a few things from your place. A change of clothes and a toothbrush, stuff like that. Is there anything special you'd like?"

Beth shook her head.

"I'll be back soon, dear."

Beth said nothing, so Judith simply left, and no sooner was she outside the police station than a curly-haired middle-aged woman was standing in her path.

"Mrs. Wells, isn't it?" the woman said brightly. "I'm Gretchen Venables. I'm a support counsellor."

"You're a what?"

"A support counsellor. For the family members of criminally insane people. The sheriff thought you might like somebody to talk to, and gave me a call."

"I saw you in the station when I arrived, didn't I? You were pestering somebody at the front desk."

"I wasn't pestering anybody, Mrs. Wells – I was just signing in. And then I was asked to wait out here until you had seen your daughter."

"Look," said Judith, "I don't know…"

"It's up to you, of course," the supposed support counsellor said. "But if you don't mind my saying so, you look as if you could use someone to talk to. And who else is going to listen? Your only child is locked up, facing a charge of attempted murder and two charges of murder one; your husband is dead; from what I hear you don't really have any friends…"

"Yes, well," Judith said awkwardly. "You're very blunt, aren't you?"

"I find it's much the best way of getting to the root of people's problems, Mrs. Wells."

"Yes, well, I'll think about it. At any rate I can't talk now – I'm going to Beth's apartment to pick up some things for her."

"Great! I'll go with you. I mean, you might find it very difficult going through your daughter's personal belongings. It should help you to have a trained professional close by."

x x x

"Where have you been?" demanded Mother.

"I've been busy, Dad."

"Do not call me that! You are utterly insane, boy. You should be the one locked up in here, not me!"

"How are you feeling?" asked Jason. "How's your bells palsy these days? Can you move the left hand side of your face at all?"

"You haven't answered my question, boy. Where have you been?"

"I told you, I've been busy."

"Oh yes? Doing what? Helping that whore to gut my house?"

"The house is nothing to do with me anymore."

"And the property developer? She's still plenty to do with you, isn't she! You spent the night with her, didn't you! You and she played hide the sausage, didn't you! DIDN'T YOU!"

"D-D-Dad, please!"

"GRANDMOTHER!"

"G-Grandmother, please! I, I, I…"

"Ha! I knew it! Where was it? It wasn't in my house, was it? You didn't screw your filthy whore in my house, did you?"

"Grandmother, please, language," muttered Jason.

"I shall say whatever I like to my own grandson! Answer me! Did you do it in my house?"

"No."

"You're as bad as your father," said Mother. "He couldn't keep his fly zipped either. I've half a mind to put you in a dress and lock you in the cupboard! That would teach you! Now you're going to forget once and for all about that filthy thing of yours, you hear? You are never to do that again!"

"I'm twenty-one," bristled Jason.

"So? You aren't married, are you?"

"You weren't married to your boyfriend and you still slept with him," said Jason, and instantly regretted it. He didn't like encouraging his father to believe that he really _was_ Norma Bates.

"Insolent boy! We are talking about you, not me! And I am telling you never to see that property developer again!"

"You're just a crazy old man!" fumed Jason. "You can't tell me what to do!"

"Kill her."

"No!"

"Then _I'll_ kill her."

"No you damn well won't! You stay away from her! You hear me, _Norma_? YOU STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM HER!"

x x x

Tracy Venable, alias Gretchen the support counsellor, nodded along to Judith's tale of woe:

"I blame myself. I should have recognised the signs. My husband… well, he was never criminally insane like Beth is. But his mother…"

They were in Judith's house now, where she had lived alone ever since her husband killed himself the previous year.

Tracy raised her eyebrows. "His mother?"

"His birth mother, I mean. She was a murderer. My parents-in-law told me that, after Andrew killed himself. They never told him. Well, you wouldn't, would you?"

"Never mind all that." Tracy flapped her hand around dismissively. "Who was his mother?"

"I don't know."

"Did your husband know?"

"I don't know. Perhaps. Probably. Just before he killed himself, he'd been trying to find her. He received a letter from the adoption agency on the morning it happened. When he killed himself, I mean. I never saw the letter."

"Did you ever try to find it?"

"Of course I did."

"Would you mind if I had a look around for it?"

Judith looked at her sharply. "Why?"

"Oh," Tracy said casually. "No special reason."

x x x

"Come on." Sarah dragged Jason into the house by his wrist. "It's looking really good. I just have to get the cellar conversion done and install the heating in the attic, and then it'll be finished!"

"Great," said Jason, smiling benevolently. "How much are you hoping to sell it for?"

"Well, I don't know." She turned left, and took him into the large living room. "It's hard to say. It's a brand new big refurbished house that comes with a potentially profitable motel, but the location is terrible. I was thinking somewhere between three and four hundred – maybe four-fifty, if I'm lucky."

"Thousand? Wow. You'll make a big profit, won't you?"

"Should do," said Sarah. "I've put a lot of money into it – the cellar conversion alone is going to cost me two thousand dollars. But it should add _five_ thousand to the value of the property. So what do you think?"

"It looks… better."

"It was burnt to a crisp, Jason, – I should damn well think it does!"

"I'm sorry," said Jason. "It's lovely, really. It's just that everything's a bit white and wood and boring."

"Well," said Sarah, "it's foolish to alienate buyers by decorating the house to your own tastes. Everything is neutral so as not to put anybody off, and then when they move in they can do whatever the hell they want with the place. I've just put a few bits of furniture here and there to demonstrate how the rooms can be used – it doesn't need to be fancy."

"Oh come on, is that really necessary?" asked Jason, raising dubious eyebrows. "Don't people have any imagination?"

"Some, possibly," Sarah said airily, "but people are so damn lazy, some of them just won't buy a house if they have to go to the trouble of figuring out for themselves how to fit their furniture in. Come on – I'll show you my family kitchen/breakfast room. Look!" as she led him through to the kitchen. "After Douglas Bryant was murdered I had to get a new conservation officer round here, and he let me put in French doors!"

"That's really nice," remarked Jason. "You could sit round the table and have a nice family meal, and in the summer you can open the French doors and look out onto all that nice countryside."

"Exactly. Would you like to see upstairs? You've never been upstairs before, have you?"

"Not since I was a foetus, and then the stairs fell in because of the fire on the very same day."

"Right then – let's go."

Though Sarah seemed too excited about her French doors to notice, Jason was feeling extremely uneasy. Sarah didn't know all of the terrible things that had happened in that house, of course: first the double murder of Norma Bates and her lover; then the murder of a slutty teenage girl, and Arbogast the private investigator… one of Norman's numerous psychiatrists… a nun, as Jason recalled, though Norman had always insisted that was an accident. And Jason knew at least two other people had killed in that house – his own great-aunt and the niece of one of Norman's victims – shortly after Norman was first declared sane. And that niece of a victim was shot dead by police. Even knowing all that, Jason thought he probably hadn't even been told about all of the awful goings on in that house. There were just too many to list.

"Here's the smaller bedroom," announced Sarah, taking Jason to the back of the house. "Not much to see in here. I just rebuilt the walls, really."

"My dad's room," said Jason.

"Yeah, well, it's a big house for just two bedrooms," said Sarah. "That's why I want to put an extra one in the attic, so people can have more than one kid here."

"Good idea." He wandered out into the hallway, and stopped in front of a door that was slightly ajar. "So this must be the, um, the…"

"The bathroom."

"Yeah."

"Go ahead in. We had to take the old bath out to the skip because it was all burnt. It had the shower attached, but there's enough room in here for a separate shower unit. People love that. I had one installed – should add value."

"You like money, don't you?"

"Not especially. I just don't see the point in throwing it away. Come on." She grabbed his wrist again. "Let me show you the _piece de resistance_."

"This was my grandmother's room," Jason said absently, when they returned to the room on the left at the top of the stairs. "This is where he… where she died."

"I'm told the fire was started in this room," said Sarah.

Jason nodded. "Sounds about right."

Gazing around the infamous room in awe, Jason knew it wouldn't have looked much like this when his father used to keep his mother's corpse in it. It was bare but for a large double bed, two oversized wardrobes and a couple of armchairs in the corner. The walls and the curtains were white, and Jason was faintly surprised to see that there was no carpet.

"No carpet," said Jason. "I don't think I'd want a bedroom with no carpet."

"Oh, people hate carpets nowadays," Sarah said airily. "It's all solid wood flooring and white leather sofas and funky radiators. See that radiator?"

"That's a radiator?" Jason's eyes followed her pointing finger to a tall, thin, twisty metal device in one corner of the room. "If my father could see this place now he'd go even madder."

"This is such a big room – I hardly knew how to dress it to make it look full," said Sarah. "What would people _do _with all this space? I was very surprised when I found out this room had an en-suite bathroom. I didn't think they even _had_ en-suites when this place was built. And you wouldn't think there was room back here, would you, looking at the outside of the house. But nevertheless…"

She pushed open a small door and stepped aside, inviting Jason to look inside. He stepped through the doorway, and couldn't help smiling.

"A wet room," he said.

"Yep," said Sarah. "Isn't it cool?"

"You weren't put off by the Beth incident, then."

"Not at all." She followed him into the wet room and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Do you want to try out the shower?"

"I, um…"

"Come on, Jason – there's no need to be shy. I've seen it all before."

"Isn't there a d-danger some builders might turn up or s-s-something?"

"No, they're not coming until this afternoon. Come on – do me!"

Jason tensed as Sarah started to kiss him. He thought guiltily of his father, sitting alone in the dark, completely convinced that he was his own mother. He… she… would be furious. Jason Bates, making love to the woman who had done all of this to his grandmother's precious house, in her own room…

Well, it was close enough to her room anyway, and it stirred something inside Jason. He pushed Sarah away with some force, exclaiming, "No! S-Sarah… I'm sorry… I just can't." He caught sight of her hurt and puzzled expression. "N-n-not here," he said more gently. "I'm sorry."

"Jason, are you all right? You seem…"

"What?"

"Weird."

"God, Sarah, for a minute there I almost wanted to… I think I need to leave."

"All right."

She took his arm and led him out of the room, down the stairs and through the front door. Once outside, Jason started down the concrete steps that led to the motel, gasping for breath.

"Jason!" called Sarah, running to catch up with him. "What's the matter with you?"

"I'm sorry," panted Jason, skidding to a halt somewhere between the house and the motel. "I don't know what came over me back there. I really scared myself."

"Oh," said Sarah. "I thought maybe you were having an asthma attack or something."

"It's that house…"

"I'm sorry." She slipped an arm around his waist and rubbed his shoulder comfortingly with her free hand. "I shouldn't have brought you here."

"Don't apologise," said Jason. "It's hardly _your _fault. I should be able to handle it. I've never even been up there before."

"Not since you were a foetus."

"Exactly. Jesus, maybe I really _am_ going mad."

"You aren't mad, Jason," said Sarah. "You're wonderful."

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

"Hello." Tracy Venable smiled benevolently at the young man at the front desk. "I wonder if you can help us. My name is Gretchen Venables, and this is Judith Wells."

Judith smiled weakly.

"She's the widow of Andrew Wells," Tracy went on. "Andrew Wells killed himself shortly after receiving a letter from the authority overseeing his adoption as a baby, and we know it must have had something to do with this place because Andrew's birth mother was _in this asylum_ when he was born."

"Right," said the young man. "I'm with you so far."

"Well," Tracy said impatiently, "we need to know who his mother was."

"Oh, I don't know…"

"She's the man's widow! Surely she has a right to know!"

"I don't see why. How do you know his mother was in here when she gave birth to him anyway?"

"His adoptive parents told his wife shortly after Andrew killed himself," said Tracy.

"Who the hell told _them_?"

"How should I know?"

"Adoption laws around here are crazy. If you ask me, when you adopt a baby you shouldn't be told anything about its biological parents. Imagine being told you're being given the baby of a mental patient…"

"My parents-in-law told me," said Judith, "that they were warned Andrew might be predisposed to mental illness. That's reasonable, isn't it?"

The young man shrugged. "Sure, I guess."

"Nobody bothered to tell _me_, of course, before I had a child with him…"

"Look," Tracy cut in. "The woman's husband killed himself because of what he found out about his mother. Doesn't she have a right to know what drove her husband to suicide?"

The young man sighed deeply. "Just wait a minute while I call my boss." He picked up the phone on his desk, muttering audibly, "Shouldn't have to deal with this kind of shit… not in my job description…"

x x x

Sarah drove Jason to her big house out of Fairvale and made love to him in her master suite with spectacular views and adjoining wet room. Jason still seemed to get nervous when they made love, but then again he seemed nervous most of the time.

"Are you feeling better now?" asked Sarah.

"Mhm," Jason smiled serenely, lying with his head on her chest while she stroked his hair, listening to her slowing heart. "Look, I'm sorry about…"

"Let's not talk about that now, baby."

"Ok."

"Ugh," said Sarah, as she glanced at the clock by her bed. "I'd like to stay here all day, but I really should go and check on my cellar conversion."

"Should the builders be there yet?"

"In ten minutes, which means they'll probably get there in about an hour, so I guess we've still got a little time."

Almost as soon as she finished speaking, the high-pitched, lingering sound of a doorbell filled the whole house.

"Goddamn it!" exclaimed Sarah. "Who the hell is that?"

"Maybe you'd better go answer it."

"Maybe I better _not_."

She lay there obstinately, the mood well and truly killed, until the bell sounded again.

"Jesus Christ!" yelled Sarah, jumping out of bed as though she had received an electric shock. "Can't people take a hint?"

She pulled on all of her clothes in about five seconds, and then stormed out of the room. Jason, thinking of the possibility that the visitor might be Sarah's mother or somebody, slid out of bed and climbed into his clothes at a more leisurely pace. As he was fastening the belt around his jeans, he heard a vaguely familiar voice coming from downstairs:

"Do you know where Jason is?"

"He doesn't want to see you. How the hell did you get my address anyway?"

Jason started down the stairs.

"Miss Bentley, please, I've found out something that he really should know."

"He doesn't want to see you."

"Look, it's very important, and surely it's his decision whether or not he - "

"He doesn't want to see you and he doesn't want to listen to any of your stupid shit, you nosy interfering - "

"Sarah." Jason approached, and placed a calming hand on Sarah's arm. "It's ok. I'll talk to her."

"Oh, you're here," Tracy said in surprise. "I've been looking all over Fairvale for you. Am I… interrupting something?"

"Yes," Sarah said curtly.

"Look, don't worry about it," said Jason. "What's this about, Ms. Venable?"

"It's partly about you," said Tracy, "and partly about your friend Beth. I fully intend to write this information into my article. Now, wouldn't you rather hear it from me than read about it in the paper?"

Jason sighed. "Yeah," he said. "I guess I would. We'd better go to my apartment."

"Stay here," Sarah said grudgingly, "if you want to. It sounds like the sort of thing you wouldn't want your roommates overhearing."

"Are you sure?" asked Jason.

"Yeah, yeah, no skin off my nose. I'm just going to nip to the bathroom, and then I'll go check on my cellar conversion."

Sarah disappeared upstairs, and Jason led Tracy through to the large kitchen/breakfast room at the back of the house with French doors onto the patio.

"You and she really are an item, then?" asked Tracy, as they sat down at the table.

"Why would you assume that?"

"Well… you both look a bit… dishevelled."

"Right," said Sarah, marching into the kitchen. "I'm going. Here's a key, Jase – will you lock up when you're done? Thanks." She stooped to give him a long, sloppy kiss goodbye. "And don't give that evil bitch any of my food."

"Well," Tracy said dryly, as Sarah closed the front door behind her. "Isn't she just charming?"

"What did you want to tell me?" asked Jason.

"Well," said Tracy. "How much do you know about your father?"

"I don't know. A lot. Maybe all of it."

"Tell me."

Jason looked suspicious. "Why should I?"

"I already know everything he did, Jason. There's nothing you can tell me about your family I don't already know. For example, do you know what he did to Emma Spool?"

"Yes," said Jason.

"I suppose you know she was a waitress working at the diner when your father came out of the asylum and took a job there. She was Norma Bates' sister. Did you know that?"

"I know all about Emma Spool. While the sister and niece of one of my father's victims were trying to drive Dad crazy again, Emma Spool exacerbated matters by hanging around the house, killing some people – three, I think – and then calling my dad to tell him she was his real mother. So then when she went to the house to see him, Dad gave her a cup of tea, hit her over the head with a big shovel, stuffed her corpse and did all the usual stuff with it."

"That's right," Tracy confirmed. "He dressed up as his mother and tried to kill me, right before he was recommitted."

"Dad didn't only dress up to kill people, you know," said Jason.

"He didn't?"

"Not at all. People seem to think he did, but he didn't. He dressed up as his mother all the time just to do all the mundane things, like eating and doing housework and stuff – all the things the corpse couldn't do. Before Marion Crane he hadn't killed anybody for years – not since those two girls when he was a teenager – but he dressed up every day. You see?"

"Yes," Tracy said uncertainly, catching a dark look in his eye. "Yes, I see."

"So anyway." Jason visibly relaxed. "That was you, was it? He told me he was in the middle of trying to kill some reporter when he learned that Emma Spool wasn't really his mother at all."

"Yes, that was me. I told him that Mrs. Spool – well, she was Miss Spool really, apparently – but anyway she wasn't his mother; she just liked to pretend she was. I told Norman that Emma Spool was in love with his father, and when Norman was little she kidnapped him and killed his father in a jealous rage."

"She did?" asked Jason.

"Ah, you didn't know that, did you?" Tracy smiled smugly.

"Dad always said his father was killed by bees."

"Yes, he was. Emma Spool shoved his face into a honeycomb."

Jason blinked. "You _are_ kidding."

"Come on, Jason, I wouldn't joke about this."

"Is that what you wanted to tell me?"

Tracy shook her head. "No, no, there's more. The first time I investigated Emma Spool, I missed something. She didn't actually concoct the fantasy about being Norman's mother until after she was put away. She had a baby in the asylum, which was taken away from her and adopted by another couple."

"Emma Spool had a baby? Who was the father?"

"No one knows. They say at the asylum that it almost certainly wasn't your grandfather, though – they think she got pregnant after she was committed."

"She must have been screwing a counsellor or something."

"Yes, well, anyway, after her son was taken away from her, she made up this fantasy that her sister had taken him in. By the time she came out, she was convinced she was Norman's mother. But she wasn't."

"Yes, you said."

"Her son went to a loving childless couple called Samuel and Elizabeth Wells. They named him Andrew."

Jason was silent for several long moments. Then at last he said, "So you're telling me Emma Spool was Beth's grandmother?"

"Yes."

"Beth is my second cousin?"

"Yes."

"This is all getting a bit far fetched."

"It does sound rather ludicrous, I admit," said Tracy. "But it's true, Jason – all of it. The letter from the asylum that prompted Andrew Wells to kill himself told him that his mother was murdered by a lunatic in nineteen eighty-two."

"That's not much to kill yourself over," remarked Jason.

"No," said Tracy, "but as I understand it he was a very disturbed man."

"Well," said Jason.

"Well?"

"I wonder if anybody's planning on telling Beth about this."

x x x

"So have you heard the latest?" asked Beth, staring at her mother across the width of a small table. "They found the body of that estate agent Philip Somebody in Jason's swamp. That's a long way for me to take a body, all the way from Fairvale."

"Did you do it, Beth?" asked Judith.

"I don't know. I don't think so. But maybe I did it and then forgot all about it. I don't remember following Jason and that property developer to her house, you know, and I don't remember trying to kill her."

"Really, honey?"

"There was talk of putting me in a straitjacket. They don't seem to have done it yet."

"Well. You wouldn't do anything to me."

"Don't worry, Mother. They're watching me."

Judith looked around. No cameras or mirrors or any kind of surveillance equipment were visible to the naked eye; she could see only clinical white walls. "How?" she asked.

Beth shrugged. "I don't know."

"Darling… I found out why your father killed himself. At least, I found out what was in the letter."

"Oh?"

"His birth mother has been dead for years. Killed by Jason's father."

"Wow, that's a coincidence," said Beth. "Still, lots of people were killed by Jason's father, weren't they? So who was she?"

Judith took a deep breath and said, "It was… Emma Spool."

Beth looked blank. "Who?"

"She was Norman Bates' aunt – his mother's sister."

"Ha!" exclaimed Beth. "Now that _is_ a coincidence! So that would make Jason my…?"

"Second cousin."

"Well, that's not so bad. I know it's legal to marry your first cousin in this state, but that's a bit too close if you ask me. So. I'm a Bates, am I? That explains a lot."

"Actually you're a Spool."

"Right, right – Norman's craziness came from his mother's side."

"If only I'd known," Judith said shakily. "If I had any idea your father came from that family I never would have…"

"What?" Beth's expression darkened. "You never would have had a child with him? Is that it? You wish I'd never been born, don't you!"

"Beth, I…"

"YOU FUCKING BITCH!"

Suddenly Beth leapt to her feet and dived across the table, grabbing her mother's neck in both hands. The furniture was nailed down, there was nothing sharp in the room and nothing that could be used as a noose. But Beth still had her hands. She pushed until she and Judith both fell to the floor, all the time squeezing the life out of her mother's throat.

The door flew open and three burly men in white coats charged into the room. Beth was a small woman, and they were able to prise her away from her mother without too much trouble. Sitting up on the floor, Judith gasped to catch her breath, staring at her only child in horror.

"YOU BITCH!" screamed Beth, kicking and thrashing against the men's grasp. "I HATE YOU!"

She was dragged out of the room, kicking and screaming, and Judith was left stunned in the middle of the floor.

x x x

"You come to see me less and less."

"I'd come more often if you'd let me talk to Dad."

"Oh, but you've been _coming_ rather a lot lately, Jason, haven't you! With that whore of yours!"

"Dad, that's disgusting!"

"DISGUSTING!" Mother screeched maniacally. "_You're_ disgusting, boy! There's no excuse for staying away! I know you've been spending time with that whore, satisfying her lust and helping her to destroy my house!"

"_You_ destroyed the house, Dad. She's been rebuilding it. And I never did anything to help. Why do you mind so much about the house anyway? Surely you would have had it fixed after it burnt down if you were… you know… around."

"Of course I would. I would have fixed it up good as new if you hadn't had me committed! You had no right to sell it! No right at all! It's my house!"

"Look," said Jason. "Let's not argue about the house again."

"You could buy it back."

"What?"

"When the whore puts the house on the market, buy it back."

"No," said Jason. "How dumb would that be? She's going to sell it on for more than twice what she paid me for it."

"What are you going to do with the money?" asked Mother. "Spend it on drink and drugs and whores?"

"No. I might use it to move you someplace where they'll take better care of you. I still can't figure out how you escaped. They found the body of the estate agent, you know, in the swamp."

"Ah yes, the swamp. My Norman is a good boy."

"Please, Grandmother… won't you let me talk to him?"

"He isn't here, Jason. You are an extraordinarily stupid boy. Don't you have eyes in your head?"

"Listen," said Jason. "Are you… are you still planning on killing Sarah?"

"Of course," said Mother. "If I can get out."

"Don't," said Jason. "Please don't. What if I stopped seeing her?"

"Ha! Why would you do that?"

"Not because of you, that's for damn sure. I just think maybe… you might have been right, Dad. I'm not safe. It's better if I don't get close to anyone."

"Oh yes? What made you change your mind?"

"Nothing. Well. I talked to a reporter. You remember Tracy Venable?"

"Tracy Venable… Was she the whore who told Norman about my mad sister and made him try to kill me for the third time?"

"Yes," said Jason.

"What's she doing, sniffing around again?"

"She's interested in those last two murders you committed. I think it would be better for you if you kept a low profile from now on."

"How can I not?" Mother said softly. "You haven't let me out of here in weeks."

"You're dangerous, Dad. I love you, but I can't let you out – not ever again."

"Are you really going to stop seeing the whore?"

"Yes. Now will you leave her alone?"

"Well. That all depends on whether I can get out of here."

"Dad… Grandmother… please. If I stop seeing her…"

"I may have to see what she's done to my house before I make up my mind."

"No freaking way," said Jason. "You are _never_ going to that house again."

x x x

Bob Morrissey arrived bright and early for work the next morning, planning to fill in that hole he and his team of builders had left in the middle of the cellar whilst installing under-floor heating; he wanted it dealt with before their employer found it. They were getting a bit behind with the cellar conversion, and if they didn't catch up quickly Sarah was going to be very unhappy.

Bob activated his small orange cement mixer and began shovelling in dry cement with some vigour. He was venting a few frustrations in doing so; he had told the rest of the team to get there before Sarah that morning, and yet he seemed to be the only one present.

Due to the noise of the cement mixer, Bob didn't hear the footsteps treading through the house above him. He was only aware of someone's presence when he heard the door to the cellar click open, and saw a figure dressed in black slowly descending the stairs.

"Jesus, a trannie," muttered Bob. "Look, buddy, I don't know if you're some kind of sick-ass Norman Bates fanatic or what, but this is private property. You're gonna have to leave."

The wigged man lifted his right hand to reveal a long, thin, very sharp knife. It wasn't the original, of course, but it would do.

"Whoa!" Bob exclaimed in alarm. "You really _are_ some kind of sick Norman Bates fanatic! Look, I was just making a start on this cellar con- "

He was cut off as the knife was plunged deep into his chest. Mother slashed at him a few times, just to make absolutely sure he was dead. At first she planned to leave straightaway, thinking that Norman would probably clean up for her like he usually did, but then she remembered Jason's news of the discovery in the swamp. Norman was so unimaginative – why should he hide the body any better this time?

Mother picked up the builder's bloody corpse, threw it into the conveniently placed hole and then started piling on the cement from the mixer.

She was interrupted before she finished. Mother threw down the shovel when she heard the cellar hatch opening, and ran for the door. She just missed Sarah, who went straight for the rotating cement mixer.

"Jesus – has this thing been on all night?" muttered Sarah, switching it off. Then she noticed the wet cement in the hole. It looked like a pretty bad job so far, but quite obviously it wasn't finished. Sarah thought there must be a builder or two about, and set off to look for them. She went to the stairs, ascended to the hallway and looked towards the kitchen, assuming they were already having a tea break.

"Hello?" she called. "Is someone here?"

No answer, of course.

Utterly perplexed, Sarah went back down to the basement and frowned down at the hole. _Someone_ had been there that very morning, attempting to fill in that hole. It made absolutely no sense. Sarah crouched, and began to reach down towards the drying concrete.

"Sarah."

She turned and saw Jason, one leg slung over the hatch that led to the outside world.

"Jason, hi," said Sarah, smiling broadly and going over to meet him as he dropped down into the cellar. "I missed you last night. Where were you?"

"S-Sarah, d-d-don't," he said with difficulty, taking her hands and moving them away as she attempted to put her arms around his neck. "I d-d-don't think… I have to, to, to… l-look, let me tell you what that j-j-j-j-j-journalist said. Ab-b-bout Beth. She's my s-s-second c-c-cousin."

Sarah frowned confusedly. "She's what?"

"T-T-Tracy V-V-Venable found out Beth is r-r-r-r-related to me. And she's crazy. Obviously. Because she comes from the s-same gene pool as my father and his mother and… don't you see what that m-m-m-m-means?"

Sarah shook her head.

"I'm d-dangerous, Sarah. Not right now, maybe, but I will be. Someday I'll go mad. Dangerously mad. I… I c-c-can't keep s-s-seeing you."

"_What_?"

"Look… S-Sarah… I'm s-s-sorry. Please try to, to, to, to understand. I… I love you, I really d-d-do, but… you might be in d-danger from me. I j-just don't think it would be s-s-s-s-safe."

Sarah's frown deepened. "That's what you said when I first asked you out. What the hell does it mean, Jason?"

"I t-t-told you about my f-f-father. About how he's c-c-c-crazy – you know?"

"Sure, but… _you're _not crazy."

"W-w-w-well… not y-yet. See, it… it runs in my f-f-family. My grandmother was c-crazy too, and her sister Emma. Emma was d-d-desperately in love with her sister's husband – my grandfather – and killed him when Dad was five… or was he six? Anyway, she did it by setting b-b-bees on him. Can you believe that? _Bees_! And now it turns out Beth's father was Emma Spool's son. That's what Tracy Venable told me. Don't you s-see? It must be genetic – the madness, I mean. Everyone in my family has gone insane, regardless of their upbringing. And most of them were dangerous. Beth tried to kill you. Her grandmother killed four people, including her own brother-in law. And my father! He killed his mother, and _my _mother, and a lot of other people t-too."

"My God."

"I know. See, Sarah… he killed the people he cared about. So I think maybe it's s-safer if I don't get close to anyone."

"Oh, Jason. You'll never be happy living your life like that."

"Doesn't matter. I'm almost definitely going to go crazy eventually anyway, and then they'll l-l-l-l-l-lock me up."

"He… _killed_ your mother?"

"Yeah."

"That's terrible! My God, Jason – I'm so sorry."

"Well, he's insane. His mother treated him very badly when he was growing up. _My_ mother, Connie… she was a psychologist. She worked with Dad after he was committed for the second time. That was how they met. He told me once that he was worried about having a baby with her, because of the illness, but Mom always said that if they loved me and treated me well, I'd be f-fine. And they were really good to me – they would never do any of the things Norma Bates did to my f-father."

"Well… maybe your mother was right. You seem to me like a really great guy."

"I try to be. But they only treated me well until I was fifteen. That was when he k-k-killed Connie. I came home and found my father dressed in his dead mother's clothes, brandishing a knife, and I found my mother dead in the bedroom. My father followed me upstairs, c-calling to me in his mother's voice, and I had to jump out the window to escape. I don't know if he wanted to kill me or not, but… well, if that doesn't drive me crazy, nothing will."

"Maybe nothing will."

"Sarah, I…"

"No, Jason, please – you can't do this to me! To either of us! Did you mean what you said? Do you really love me?"

"Yes."

"Well I love you too!"

"But Sarah, I might end up killing you!" Jason said heatedly. "My father killed _twelve_ _people_." He did not include the two more recent murders that only he knew about. "He killed his own w-w-wife and m-mother! He might even have tried to k-kill m-m-me…"

"Jason, this isn't fair," said Sarah. "Not on anyone. You can't just not live your life on the off chance!"

"But Sarah," said Jason, "think of Beth, and her father. He went mad and killed himself; she was always a bit weird anyway, and now she's gone completely loopy! There were absolutely no environmental factors in their upbringing that could have done that to them. It happened to my father, his mother, her sister, his son and his daughter. Why should I be the exception?"

"Because…" Sarah said weakly. "Because it has to stop somewhere."

Jason nodded. "Right. And it stops with me. Sarah… this is really difficult for me. I wanted it to work between us, I really did, b-b-but… look, you need to go and find yourself somebody else. Somebody with no b-b-b-baggage. Somebody who'll give you children. God knows, I never can."

"I don't care about children."

"You'd be such a wonderful mother, Sarah. I can just see you coming out to all your building sights, almost bursting out of your sweater because you're so pregnant…"

"Jason, come on. You aren't crazy. Couldn't we… couldn't we just keep going and see what happens?"

She reached out and pressed her palm against his face. Jason grabbed her hand and said, almost in a whisper, "I want to, Sarah. I really do."

"Well then…"

"I n-n-need to th-think about this." He stopped as he heard the sound of some large vehicle or other parking outside the house, close to the cellar. "That'll be your builders. You stay here and deal with your cellar conversion. I have to…"

He backed away without finishing, turned and climbed through the hatch into the world outside. Sarah watched him go, tears pricking the backs of her eyes, and then pulled herself together. She couldn't get emotional in front of the builders. That would just be unprofessional. Dealing with crying women wasn't in their job description.

She spun on her heel and returned to that baffling hole. The cement had dried.

x x x

Tracy Venable was about to enter the Fairvale Hotel, where she was staying, when she caught sight of Jason heading for the adjacent bar. Coincidentally it was the very bar where she had met Duane Duke, the deceptively charming young lothario who had been working for Norman during his second bout of murders. Duke had been one of Norman's victims, Tracy had discovered, after Norman was arrested and the police had dragged the swamp to see who might be down there.

"Jason," she said, racing over to him and taking his arm in an iron grip. "I don't suppose you'd be prepared to answer a few more questions?"

"You don't suppose correctly, Miss Venable."

"Oh please. I want to write you into my article. Wouldn't you like to have your say?"

"I'll be late for work."

Tracy glanced up at the garish neon sign above the bar. "You work here?"

"Yes."

"This won't take a minute, Jason. I was just wondering what you were planning to do."

Jason raised his eyebrows. "Do?"

"About your illness. I mean, with all five known members of your family being homicidal maniacs…"

"They may all have been maniacs, Ms. Venable, but only three were homicidal: my father, my great-aunt and her granddaughter. Hey, maybe it skips a generation."

"Well, aren't you going to take any precautions? Get yourself some medication, something like that?"

"Leave me alone."

Jason disappeared into the bar. Tracy toyed with the idea of following him, but eventually decided to go to her hotel room and work on her article as planned. She thought it would be unwise to antagonise Jason. He seemed like a nice, gentle man, but then again so had his father. Besides, Tracy well remembered the look that had passed over him the day before, when she was delivering the news about Beth and happened to say something about Norman that Jason didn't seem to like.

For some minutes Tracy sat back on the bed in her hotel room, looking over her notes. She had come back to Fairvale in order to ascertain whether the latest murders were the work of some kind of Norman Bates wannabe, or if Norman's son really had inherited the sickness. What she had discovered, however, was that the prime suspect in this case was one Elizabeth Wells – Norman Bates' unknowing cousin. Cousin once removed, to be exact. It made a good story, Tracy had to admit. She had already written the chapter on Norma Bates' even madder sister; now here was the sequel.

She was up until one o'clock planning her article. True enough, she had unearthed a lot of fascinating facts, but still she wanted more. She wanted something from Jason, be it some kind of statement from him or, even better, proof that he was as mad as the rest of them.

Tracy knew that the bar stayed open until late, and Jason's shift might not have finished yet. She got off the bed, slipped into her shoes and made her way downstairs. She ventured onto the street outside, and then into the smoky, dimly lit bar.

"Hi," as a young barmaid approached. "Is Jason Bates still here?"

"Sorry, honey, you just missed him," said the barmaid.

"Damn it," muttered Tracy. "Well, thanks anyway," and she went straight out of the bar again.

As soon as she was out on the street, somebody grabbed her around the shoulders and clamped a hand over her mouth so tightly that she couldn't utter a sound. Tracy flailed and kicked frantically as she was dragged into a small, filthy, dustbin-lined deserted alley behind the bar. The hand was taken off her mouth, and in the same moment a sharp knife sliced into her throat. Again she tried unsuccessfully to scream, staring up into the eyes of her killer, her face registering surprise and recognition in the few moments before she died.

x x x

Jason sauntered out of the gents' and almost collided with the barmaid who had spoken to Tracy when she came in.

"Jason, you're still here," the barmaid remarked, a dark green bin bag clasped in one hand.

Jason smiled crookedly. "I know."

"There was a woman here looking for you."

"Oh." It occurred to him that this woman might have been Sarah, impatient to talk in spite of his insistence that he needed time to think. "Who was she?"

"She didn't say. She looked kind of old. More than fifty anyway, and she had all this curly dark hair."

"Oh." Jason scowled. "That sounds like the journalist who's been pestering me."

"Ah. Maybe it's a good thing I didn't know you were still here."

"Yeah." He glanced down at the bag of rubbish in her hand. "Would you like me to take that? It's pretty dark and deserted in that alley."

"Oh yeah?" she said, raising her eyebrows, but passing him the bin bag anyway. "And it's safer for you because you're a man?"

"No. Just because everybody thinks I'm crazy, and you should never attack a crazy person."

The barmaid evidently didn't know what to say. She turned round and headed back to the bar, and Jason made for the back door that led out into the alley behind the building. The only light out there was what filtered through from the heavily lit streets surrounding the bar, and at first Jason didn't notice anything amiss. He lifted the lid of one of the large metal dustbins and dumped the bag inside. Then he happened to look down, and noticed a trickle of shiny dark liquid leading further into the alley. Jason stooped and touched the liquid, which was still warm and wet. Lifting his hand, he sniffed at the substance on the end of his fingers.

"Shit," he muttered, and began to follow the trail of blood to a large dumpster that was parked against the side wall of the Fairvale Hotel. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the lid and rose onto his toes to see inside.

When he saw Tracy's body, he immediately dropped the lid again. He took two steps back, fully intending to go back into the bar and call the police. But then a thought occurred to him. If he called the police now, he might never get away from them. He had no alibi, something of a motive and even a copious and ever growing history of dangerous mental illness in his family.

Jason turned round and stole quietly out from behind the bar, onto the streets of Fairvale. Let someone else find the body and call the police. They would probably come after him eventually, of course, but there was something he had to do first.

x x x

"Why did I tell you Tracy Venable was around?" Jason cried shrilly, bursting into Norman's room. "Why? I should have known you would have… How did you get out? Tell me how you got out!"

"Calm down, Jason," said Mother. "She was bothering you, wasn't she? I tried to kill her once before, you know, all those years ago. And once Mother has made up her mind to kill you, you never escape. She gets you within the next couple of chapters of our story: Lila Crane, Tracy Venable… your whore mother."

"Don't talk to me about her! I'll never forgive you for what you did to her – _never_!"

"She was a whore."

"She was my mother, you fucking bitch!"

"Jason! How dare you speak to me that way!"

"I'm never speaking to her again Dad, you hear me? Not ever! If you don't talk to me right now… that's it. I'm leaving and I'm never coming back."

"He's not going to talk to you, Jason."

"Dad, please, fight her!"

"You understand now, don't you?" Mother said softly. "When I first killed her, you couldn't accept that Norman had nothing to do with it. But now…"

"Dad, please." Jason's voice was shaking, and he was blinking back tears.

"You want to know how I got out of here? You can figure it out. It was you, Jason. You let me out of here because you're crazier than he ever was."

"SHUT UP!" yelled Jason, striding towards him. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

"Jason…"

Jason stopped short. "Dad…?"

"You have to stop this, son. Now."

"Norman!" exclaimed Mother. "Stop that!"

"YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE!" screamed Jason, the tears flowing freely now. "YOU HEAR ME, BITCH? YOU LEAVE US THE HELL ALONE!"

With this he flew at his father, grabbing the front of Mother's long black dress in two tight fists. He shook violently, and then stopped and backed away when he realised… the only movement that body was making came from him. He stepped back, gasping for breath, and Norman Bates' dead, stuffed body fell to the floor.

"No," whispered Jason. "Shit. Fuck! This can't be happening. Please, God, tell me this isn't happening…"

"Jason…"

"No!" Jason clamped his hands over his ears in some vain attempt to block out the voice inside his head. "Get out of me!"

"Jason, it's me," Norman's voice insisted.

"No." Jason shook his head frantically. "It's not you. Get out of there. I don't want you here."

"You must."

"I don't! Get out! I forgive you, Dad. I love you and I forgive you. You know that now, don't you? That's all I wanted to say to you. Now get out of me… please…"

He stopped talking and rose suddenly, taking his hands away from his ears as a disturbing thought occurred to him. For all this time he had been convinced he was visiting his father at the asylum. But he couldn't have been. So where the hell was he?

Jason stepped outside, leaving Norman's corpse to its own devices, turned and through the darkness saw the faint outline of the abandoned warehouse looming over him, surrounded by miles of deserted highway. He was mortified. Had he really stolen his father's corpse, stuffed it, brought it out here and walked all this way every time he came to visit, seeing the asylum on every occasion?

"I taught you how to stuff things," Norman's voice reminded him. "You didn't stuff anything for years, but then you remembered."

"Jesus, Jason, get that voice out of your head. It isn't Dad. Dad's dead."

He remembered it now… scrambling to his car… breaking the speed limit to get to the hospital… being just too late to talk to his father – _really_ talk to his father. Norman was back for the first time in just over five years, dying, asking to see his son, and Jason just hadn't got there in time.

"Jason…"

He turned round and began to trudge back towards Fairvale.

"Jason… talk to me… please…"

x x x

Sarah hadn't had the best day. No one had been surprised when Bob didn't show up for work; builders often did that. She had tried calling him on his cell phone several times throughout the day, and really began to worry when he didn't answer for about the fifth time. Her mind kept going back to that hole, and the running cement mixer, and the recent murders connected with that house…

It wasn't until five o'clock that Sarah finally decided she wanted all the concrete hacked away and the hole exposed again, at which point the builders all said they were going home unless she was prepared to pay them overtime. Sarah didn't have to consider for long; overtime possibly leading to a murder investigation was an unnecessary expense she hadn't budgeted for – unnecessary because the job could keep until morning.

After making the decision not to act on Bob's disappearance just yet, Sarah realised that the worry had been a welcome distraction from Jason. She began feeling pretty desperate to hear from him, and wondered just how much time he was going to need to do his thinking. He had said he loved her, which was nice to hear. He was quite a few years younger than she was, which didn't matter to her a bit, but even if he did decide continue their relationship he would certainly never agree to have children. Right now she didn't care about that, but maybe one day in the future she would change her mind. But of course, she didn't really have time for that. Maybe their breaking up was for the best after all.

It certainly didn't feel that way, though.

Sarah found herself unable to sleep, and was up deliberating for some time. Finally she noticed, to her extreme surprise, that it was getting on for three o'clock. She pursed her lips, remembering that Jason worked until two o'clock on Friday nights/Saturday mornings. He would probably be home by now, but he might not have gone to bed yet.

She quickly made the decision to drive out to Fairvale and see him. It wasn't until Sarah was in her car and driving through the artificially lit streets that she thought it might be proper to call first, so she endangered herself and every other motorist on the road by whipping out her cell phone. Her call was answered by one of Jason's elusive roommates – one of the three who tended to be out most of the time while Jason and Beth were at home being slightly agoraphobic.

"Hi," said Sarah. "Is Jason there, please?"

"Sorry, sweetheart," a male voice slurred drunkenly. "He's not back yet."

"What time does he normally get home on a Friday night?"

"Usually about two thirty, I guess. Don't worry about it, though – he's been staying over with his girlfriend a lot recently."

There was nothing to be gained from telling him that she _was_ Jason's girlfriend, so Sarah simply thanked the drunken youth for his attempt to help and hung up. She returned both hands to the steering wheel and her full attention to the road, beginning to worry slightly. Jason hadn't gone home, he hadn't gone to her and he couldn't very well visit any of his mad friends and family at this time of night. So where the hell was he? Sarah knew Jason was a grown man, of course, and she should probably stay out of his business; but she remembered how upset he had been when she saw him the previous morning, and it gave her an uneasy feeling.

Jason hadn't many regular haunts, and the only place that Sarah could think of was the house. She didn't hold out much hope of finding him, but she drove there anyway. She got out of her car and approached the house even after she saw that no lights were on, and then cursed quietly to herself when she realised that she hadn't brought her key.

She was about to leave, but then had a strange urge to try the cellar hatch. It wasn't locked, which Sarah found extremely surprising because she always remembered to lock up (not that any burglars would find much of interest on a building sight, of course).

"Hello?" Sarah called timidly, as she dropped down into the cellar. "Is someone here?" She saw some movement in the shadows. "Jason, is that you?" _It better be or I'm in trouble, _she added silently.

"Sarah. Shit." It was Jason's voice. Just. He sounded drained and deflated. "I really thought I wouldn't be found down here. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for you."

"Oh God, why? Look, I was right the first time: we can't keep seeing each other. Please go away."

"No way."

Sarah crossed the room to the light switch and flipped it on. Light flooded the cellar, revealing a dishevelled looking Jason standing there with a bottle of vodka in one hand and an open box of aspirin in the other.

"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed Sarah. She ran over to Jason and wrenched both items from his hand. "Is that vodka? How many of these have you taken?"

"Four," said Jason.

"Just four? Really? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Do you have a headache, or were you trying to kill yourself?"

"Both."

"Jesus Christ, Jason, you fucking moron." She felt her knees buckle, and slumped to the floor. "So what, was I or one of my builders just going to find you dead here in the morning?"

"I'm sorry, Sarah." Jason sat down next to her. "I didn't think about that."

"So what in God's name _were_ you thinking?" She looked down at the small box of aspirin in her trembling hand, and saw that she and Jason were sitting amongst quite a few identical boxes. "Tell me you weren't doing _this_ just on the off chance you might go crazy."

"No, no, no." Jason shook his head, speaking slowly and deliberately. "Not on the off chance. I'm already crazy."

Sarah looked at him. "You aren't."

"Oh yes I am."

She put down the aspirin and the vodka, out of his reach. "Tell me."

"I've been completely off my rocker," said Jason, "for the last seven months. Ever since my father died."

"I thought your father was still alive."

"Ha!" He turned his head and stared at her with wild, red-rimmed eyes. "So did I! See… Sarah… what happened was that I hated my father for killing my mother and I never talked to him again. He was convinced he was his mother forever after that, right up until just before he died. I'd forgotten all this, but now I remember that I got this phone call from somebody at the institution. They told me Dad was back, he was dying and he wanted to see me."

"Did you go to him?" asked Sarah.

Jason nodded. "When I heard he was dying, I couldn't stand it. I had to see him before he went – let him know I forgave him, and I didn't hate him. But I was too late. He died thinking I hated him."

She touched his hand. "Oh, Jason…"

"Don't feel sorry for me." He snatched his hand away. "I don't deserve it. You'll run out of here screaming when you hear what I did."

"I won't."

"You will. Oh, Sarah!" He started suddenly, as a terrible thought occurred to him. "You've been in so much danger from me! I could have… oh God!"

"Whatever you did," said Sarah, "I hardly think it can be worth killing yourself over."

"Oh yes it can. But I'm not going to tell you. You're such a lovely girl, Sarah. You don't deserve to know what kind of a monster you've been fucking."

"It was more than just fucking, Jason."

"Yeah." He paused. "Can I have my vodka and my pills back now, please?"

"No," said Sarah. "I'm not going to give these back to you. If you tell me what you did, I'll tell you why it's not worth this."

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I love you and I want to help you."

Jason just stared at her for well over a minute. Then he said, "How much did I tell you about my dad? I told you he killed as his mother, didn't I? He only consciously killed four people. The nun was an accident and the other seven times, he was her. He did it because he had to be her in order to convince himself that she was still alive. Did you know he stole her corpse and stuffed it, and gave it a voice?"

Sarah blinked. "I don't think you told me that."

"I did the…" – he collapsed forward, burying his head in his lap. "Oh God, I can't!"

"You… you did it too?"

Jason looked up, his eyes even wilder and redder than they had been moments before. "It worked for him," he said. "He managed to convinced himself that he still had his mother. And I wanted my dad back. I thought: _Hey, I'll try it and see if it works._ And you know what?" He laughed maniacally. "It does!"

"Christ," muttered Sarah.

"Dad… before he died… he taught me how to stuff things. I forgot I'd done it straight after, but I remember it all now. I took him to this abandoned warehouse and convinced myself it was the asylum. I actually _saw_ the asylum every time I went there. I even thought I talked to people on the front desk." He cut a glance at Sarah. "I kinda thought you'd be gone by now."

"I'm not going anywhere, Jason. It's ok."

"It's only ok because I haven't told you the half of it."

"Go on."

"Well, like I said, Dad spent the last years of his life convinced he was his goddamn bitch mother. And when I gave Dad a voice, I just did what he did. And then suddenly he wasn't there anymore. It was just her. I was Norma Bates. He came back a couple of times, but I wasn't there. I wasn't in my own mind. They pushed me out. I can't be three people at once. But I could never just be him and me. She was always there. Always has been, even after Dad was better. She's never going to go away. Not until I'm gone."

"Jason…"

"What are you thinking, Sarah?"

"Right now I'm pretty much just thinking: _shit_."

"You should get out of here now, Sarah. You're in danger from her. From me. Always have been, ever since you bought her house."

"Don't be ridiculous. How can I be in danger from…? Oh God!"

"Go on, ask me."

"You killed Allsopp and Bryant, didn't you? And Bob? Did you kill _him_?"

"Who?"

"Bob the builder. I've got a sort of feeling he's under that patch of cement," and she jerked her head towards it.

"Oh… God, probably." Jason was no longer looking at her. "Still love me now, Sarah?"

Sarah looked at him. If he looked any different to her now, it was only because he seemed so vulnerable. "Yes," she said.

Jason sighed. "Don't do that, Sarah. Don't lie. Not about that. If this is some attempt to persuade me not to kill myself…"

"Jason, I'm not lying. I love you, ok? I fucking love you! And I can give you a perfectly good reason not to kill yourself: you can beat this thing. You're already getting better."

"I'm not. I can't beat it. It's unbeatable. Dad got rid of his mother twice, and she always came back. Always!"

"Jason, come on, look at this sensibly. The first time, how long was your father convinced that he was his mother?"

"Ten years out of the nuthouse, twenty-two years in."

"And what did it take to make him realise she was dead?"

"I don't know. A lot of doctors, I guess."

"Over twenty-two years."

"Yes."

"But you've remembered what you did, and realised your father's dead all by yourself after only seven months. I really think that means you're better at fighting it than he ever was."

Jason was silent.

"You need help, Jason, of course you do. You need to wipe out the sickness. But there's more to you than just the illness, and you mustn't take the rest of you with it. I'm not going to let you die."

x x x

It was mid-morning. Jason stared up at the tall, looming building, feeling like a terrified child. But then Sarah squeezed his hand, and he knew he wouldn't be leaving _everything_ behind.

"This is absolutely the right thing to do," she said. "I'm so proud of you for having the courage."

"Yeah, well, it's probably better than killing myself."

"I'll come and see you every day."

"No, don't, you don't have time. And look, if you meet someone else…"

She turned and grabbed his face in both hands. "I'll cross that bridge if and when I come to it," she said, and kissed him.

"Mmm. I'll miss that," said Jason.

"Oh, come on. Surely they'll give me conjugal visits."

"I think you only get those if you're married."

"Oh. Damn."

"Well." Jason took her hands and moved them down from his face. "There's only one way to find out."

"I'm right here with you, babe."

They both turned back to face the asylum and, hand in hand, they went inside.

THE END


End file.
